


i'll never be lonely

by john1513



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Friendship (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Aziraphale & Crowley Friendship (Good Omens), BUT IT IS TEMPORARY ISH, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Demon Deals, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Magic, Major character death - Freeform, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Mortal Aziraphale (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rituals, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smoking, Top Crowley (Good Omens), We've got it all folks, but nothing is explicit so, high-ranking crowley, hints of jealousy, i guarantee a happy ending!!, if you'd like to imagine something else i mean it's a free world babe go off, the slowest of burns im sorry i cant write anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/john1513/pseuds/john1513
Summary: Aziraphale summons a demon to his bookshop to demand (*politely ask) a little favor of him. Was it a great idea to summon a literal demon from hell to be your friend for a bit? Maybe not. But Aziraphale has been a bit lonely lately, and he's tried everything, really. Turns out the demon he calls is less Demon and more Grumpy, Cuddly Man, but, hey. He's not complaining.Aziraphale sells his soul in exchange for friendship, and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 319
Kudos: 434
Collections: Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. orion

**Author's Note:**

> here's another one :) story is not beta'ed, so sincere apologies for any mistakes along the way. thank you for being here!! tags may change or be added as I go, so please keep an eye out. Thank you for reading, and I hope y'all like this one!  
> -also side note, the words are taken from a real website based on a real book about a real ritual that i found. do i recommend performing a demonic ritual because you need a friend? no, i can be your friend, much simpler, no soul-selling required.
> 
> -ALSO a quick addition, this fic was not officially beta'ed but was HIGHLY improved by the constant support, advice, and reworking of plot details from my very best friend [@izabella95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izabella95), a really talented writer as well, and this fic in its entirety really had a lot to do with her input. so if you liked this one be sure to check out her stuff too!! especially if you're a fan of fluff, oh boy you're in for a treat. thanks for everything, girl :)

Aziraphale waited. 

He’d had a long day. And this had only managed to make things worse. He’d woken up early to catch a bus, then the Tube, then another bus, and a connecting bus, and then finally finished the journey by walking to a small, hole-in-the-wall shop on the damn near other side of London. It had been a long day of public transport, and he felt emotionally exhausted from it. Up and down steps, polite smiles at strangers all over town, pushing past people on the sidewalks. He’d dealt with it only because it was the only shop in London that carried the last of the items he needed. 

He felt a bit funny, too, like he was sneaking illegal items on the last bus back to his bookshop. He carried a large, leather bag and sat it down at his feet as he took his place on the yellowed, dingy bus seats. He wondered if mind-readers were real; if anyone could tell from the mysterious clinks the bag made with each bump in the road what was inside. It sounded like seashells, maybe, strange clicks and muffled sounds coming from inside. He sat quietly, and flexed his fingers nervously. He shouldn’t have worried. No one looked at him the entire ride home, and no one spoke to him, and he exited the bus fifteen minutes later with no further words. He walked the rest of the way, only a block or two, back to the front doorstep of his bookshop.

As he walked into his shop, he put down the heavy bag to a series of clinking noises, and straightened up slowly, arching his back to straighten out the kinks in his back, and twisted his back carefully side to side. He checked again that the sign on his window was set to 'Closed', locked the door behind him, and got to work.

Aziraphale leaned down to open the large bag, and reverently pulled out a long, dangling chain, a vintage oil lamp, a small handheld bell (the likes of which he’d imagined a king may have used to call a servant to his side in one of his many fictional novels), a golden crown (likely a stage prop, but a convincing one, at that), a heavy, black robe, velvet and glinting a raven black-blue color, some tea candles he’d picked up at 5 for a tenner (a steal, and Aziraphale had wiggled a bit at the marvelous discovery), a small vial of thick, yellow oil, a silver goblet encrusted with snake-eye yellow gems along its edge, and a small dagger, a ray of glimmering light from the setting sun filtering through the bookshop window and reflecting off the razor-sharp edge. He was especially careful with that one.

He set the items each carefully and ritualistically around him, kneeling on the floor. He surveyed the items with trepidation, before standing and walking to a small closet far in the back of the shop, and emerging with a small bucket of stark white paint and a tiny horse hair paint brush. 

“Well,” he sighed defeatedly, “let’s get to work.”

He grabbed the well-worn book he’d hidden under the till and opened it to a carefully bookmarked page with a detailed diagram of a sigil, and began the labor-intensive work of copying it, ever so carefully, stroke by stroke, onto the bare wood floors of his beloved shop. _The paint would never really come off_ , he thought a bit sadly. _But if there were any other option left...well._

He found it meditative, almost, painting the lovely symbols and shapes and sigils on his bare floor. The paint was thin and runny, and the contrast between the dark oak of his wooden floor that caused his knees to ache, and the delicate, floaty shade of white that transported him to somewhere off in the clouds was beautiful, aesthetically speaking. A nightmare, probably, to get rid of when this was all over. Never mind that his parents would definitely be turning in their graves if they knew what he was up to, or that his religious upbringing couldn’t help but sound the alarm bells in the back of his head at his actions. He no longer prescribed to most aspects of religion in any sense, but one thing they’d taught him growing up was that just as there were presences of good in this world, there were also evil ones. And he, human, was stuck in the middle, and urged to not, under any circumstances, open a door he couldn’t close.

Well, consider this swinging the doors wide open.

He looked down at his handiwork and admired the crisp lines of the pentagram, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if the tingle in his spine was just a factor of the slowly setting sun running a chill through the empty shop, or if it was possibly something else altogether. He ignored it for now. If there were evil energies in the shop, then it was working, right?

As the paint was drying in its intricately woven symmetries, Aziraphale creakily stood to gather an empty book crate, large and heavy, to use as his makeshift altar. He set it very gently down at the outside edge of the large circle, careful not to touch the drying paint, and began to assemble his tools and items thoughtfully on the crate. He placed his tea candles at each appropriate orientation and lit them carefully, noticing only a slight tremble in his fingers, involuntary as it was. He ran a fingertip across the edge of the dagger, and set that down on top just in front of the glimmering cup. 

And all the while, he could hear dangerous creaks on the floor above him, the sound of glass clinking in his kitchen, the wood groaning in the walls around him. Sounds he was used to, living in an old shop alone for years, but that now sounded menacing, just a little louder than usual.

He stood in the middle of the circle, black robe hanging elegantly off his shoulders, crown sitting awkwardly on his head. He looked around at the flickering candles around him, and back at the open book in his hands. He read over the instructions again, the words, the symbols, the items required, the ritual. It seemed pretty...straightforward, if he was really being honest. He wondered why people didn’t just do this all the time.

He ran a finger across the text and whispered the words to himself as he went. 

“ _The tools required...as a circle drawn on the ground and inscribed with the names of god, an altar, a wand, cup, sword, and pentacle, to represent his true will, his understanding, his reason, and the lower parts of his being respectively. On the altar, too, is a phial of oil to represent his aspiration, and for consecrating items to his intent_.”

“Yes, yes, we got that bit, alright,” Aziraphale murmured.

“ _The magician is surrounded by a scourge, dagger, and chain intended to keep his intent pure. An oil lamp, book of conjurations and bell are required, as is the wearing of a crown, robe, and lamen. The crown affirms his divinity, the robe symbolizes silence, and the lamen declare his work. The book of conjurations is his magical record, his karma. In the East is the magic fire in which all burns up at last._ ”

Aziraphale looked around his setup, and mentally checked off each item listed. He cleared his throat and, enunciating clearly, spoke the simple words that should conjure up the Evil straight to his sitting room and waited. “Right, well. That should...do it.”

Aziraphale glanced around, waiting. He stood there for a good second, a good minute, maybe ten at this point. The sun was well past set, and the only light that he could see was now the weak candles that were slowly running low on wax. Crap candles, then, that’s why they were so cheap.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “So...is there...is there something else I should say, then? A, uh...ritual? Spell? Incantation, perhaps?”

No answer. At least, not from his books that rested uneasily on their shelves, a bit nervous from the licking flames that had no place in a bookshop, much less so precariously close to stacks upon stacks of loose, thin pages older than their owner by far, older than these walls and older than this town.

Aziraphale looked around impatiently at the room around him, and with a deep sigh, carefully closed the book in his hands, running a gentle hand over its browned and aged cover. He took care to run his fingertip over the title of the book, gilded in what felt like gold leaf, ‘ _Magick, Book Four. By Aleister Crowley_ ’. He wondered at the pronunciation, settling on something like... _Cra-oh-lee_.

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in disappointment. “Well, that was the last of the rituals I could find to try,” he spoke quietly to the book in his hands, still tracing its wrinkled edges with something between a deep caring sensation and a sadness threatening to overtake his carefully hopeful disposition. “So, what do you propose we do now, Mr. Crowley?”

The small flickers of light still valiantly emanating from the little tea candles carefully arranged around Aziraphale all blew out suddenly and briskly with a strong gust, a wind running through the bookshop as if every window and door had suddenly opened and let in the winds of a wet, cold hurricane. And at the same time, Aziraphale felt like he couldn’t breathe, like all the air had been sucked out, like he was floating driftlessly in the dark, consuming vacuum of outer space. The lack of light and warmth left Aziraphale drenched in a sudden pitch-black, almost unnatural, darkness. He realized suddenly he felt vastly unprotected, rather foolish, and utterly alone. 

That is, until he heard a voice, clear and confident ringing across the room.

“It’s _Crow-_ ley.”


	2. ursa major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is a dream of jeannie reference really outdated, or?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, alright, so, i got impatient, so what. posting chapter 2 literally 20 minutes after ch 1 lol. hope ya like it!

“It’s _Crow-_ ley.” The voice bounced terrifyingly across the shop, like a living thing, like a snake winding its way around the shelves and the nooks and crannies of Aziraphale’s bookshop, of Aziraphale’s mind. There was a loud snap of fingers, and the bookshop was once again lit, albeit dimly, by flames burning brightly all at once from each candle. Aziraphale looked up sharply at the direction of the voice, and the plastic crown sitting atop his head was knocked briskly off, the clang resounding extraordinarily loudly throughout the quiet room. The lighting was still a bit too dim to make out much of anything, but Aziraphale could just see a thin, long figure, shrouded in black leaning against a far shelf. Its hair glowed a deep, fiery red in time with the flicker of the candlelight.

“Ah,” Aziraphale started elegantly after far too long in silence. “H-hello.”

The figure did not respond. The thing only pushed off the shelf it was previously leaning on and it began to stride slowly forward, straight towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale took a step back, nearly tripping on the robe that still clung to his shoulders and wrapped around his ankles.

“I-I mean, please, don’t,” Aziraphale stumbled backward as the figure continued to edge closer and closer to the painted circle on the floor and stopped just short of it. Aziraphale had been unsure exactly how this demonic ritual thing would work, really, but from what he’d read...they weren’t friendly beasts. And they _certainly_ did not appreciate being called upon.

“How did you know to call me?” The figure spoke, and from here, Aziraphale could see he was vaguely...man-shaped. Alarmingly man-shaped, in fact.

“Em, well, I...I used the, uh. The book.”

“What book,” the man snapped back.

“The, uh, it’s called Magick? It’s an older book---”

“Does it have a name in it? Does it name a demon in the book?”

Aziraphale paused. “No, it doesn’t. Just, uh, the ritual. The words...symbols. And such. You know.”

“So,” the man said, and he dragged out the ‘s’ out viciously, “how did you come to call me _specifically_?” He walked along the edges of the white circle, toeing the lines carefully but never stepping inside, never crossing the thin threshold that momentarily protected Aziraphale from the world outside which currently contained, it seemed, a demon.

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale whispered, and quickly amended when the demon lifted his eyebrows doubtfully in his direction, and Aziraphale noticed underneath the thin lines a shocking shade of mustard that maybe could have been eyes, if they didn’t instead look like hypnotizing orbs of tempting golden sunlight, snake eyes floating ominously in the darkness and searching his face, swaying side to side, sizing him up. “No, I swear it. There’s no name in here, I-I thought it hadn’t worked.”

“It’s not _meant_ to work. Not unless there’s a name. And yet, here I am,” the man said, pensive. “What did you say?”

“Hm?”

“What did you _say_ ,” he said exasperatedly, “just before I showed up?” There was a beat. “Come on now, you must remember, little one, what did you ssssay?” The demon took on a quiet, seductive tone.

“I, uh…” Aziraphale gulped at the sudden shift in the air. “I was just looking at the book, I think, I was...oh, I may have...asked the author for help. Just before, I believe. But it was just---I was just---”

“ _What did you sssay?_ ”

Aziraphale staggered back another step in fear. “Something....something like, ‘What shall I do now, Mr. Crowley?” He could feel a small tremble in his voice, and swallowed it down.

“Ah, shit,” the demon murmured, and his voice was suddenly loads lighter. The thing straightened his back out easily, which had turned liquid and languid in the darkness without Aziraphale’s express knowledge. He snapped his fingers again, and the lights in the shop turned on, flooding the room in a brightness that Aziraphale didn’t realize he’d been drowning without. 

Now that the lights were on, Aziraphale could see the demon clearly, and was shocked to see a young man, or he could have been young, he couldn’t be sure, that appeared just really vaguely...normal. He had cropped short hair, styled artfully atop the crown of his head, a fiery red color that looked more rebellious and cool in the light than the terrifying blood shade Aziraphale had seen in the darkness. The man was thin and beautiful, skin stretched tight over tanned skin, rough elbows and sleek features, sharp jawline and deep-set eyes. The man was dressed rather stylishly as well, actually, a thin gray v-neck shirt, a sleek black blazer, and black-hole black trousers. 

The man spoke. “You didn’t mean to summon me but you did, it seems. Name’s Crowley. _Crow-_ lee, though, not this _Craw_ -lee nonsense, or whatever.” He waved a hand around. “The ritual works, technically, but it doesn’t include any names so it’s meant to be correct but not exactly _whole_. You cannot summon a demon without a name. Although, I must say the book has some extra…” and he eyed Aziraphale’s room first, and then raked his eyes from Aziraphale’s shoes all the way up to his shining, wide blue eyes, “ _addendums_. The words alone will do it. And the circle, nice touch.” He toed at the white lines at his feet, carefully pushing the outer paint flakes with the tip of his snakeskin boots, but seemingly unable to reach just beyond it. “Protection. Smart.”

Aziraphale just stared. 

The thing, the man, stared back. 

He looked around, seeming to take in the contents of the room for the first time, and made his way carefully from the front area and to the other side of the circle, where a large, stuffed armchair patterned with flower embroidery and a brownish shade of patterning underneath, sat awkwardly in the cluttered room. The demon Crowley sauntered, _sauntered_ , to the chair, picked up a soft pillow from its center, and sat sprawling on the thing, legs extending over the armrest to the side, and arms hugging the pillow to his chest. Aziraphale’s heart impossibly felt something akin to fondness bloom in his chest. He quickly admonished the thought, and waved it away. 

“So? You’ve got me right where you want me, kid. What do you want?” 

Aziraphale bristled a bit. “I’m not a _kid_ , Mr. Crowley, if you please.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? How old are you?”

“Um, well, I’m turning 37 this February.”

“Oh, funny, me, too.”

“...Really?”

“No. But we can go with that,” Mr. Crowley drawled, and his smile turned predatory and slick. Aziraphale hated it, and he loved it. 

“Well,” and after a deep breath, “tea, Mr. Crowley?”

He blinked. “Sure. But not Mr. Crowley, makes me sound elderly. Crowley’s fine.”

“Crowley. Sure. A pleasure.”

“Likewise. And you?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll be having tea, too.”

“No, your name,” Crowley had a thick, wide grin on his face, showing off sharp, glaring, unnaturally white teeth. 

“Oh, uh, Aziraphale.” A deep snort came from Crowley’s mouth, though he graciously appeared to attempt to restrain it, just only failing. “What?”

“No, just, isn’t that the name of an angel?”

“Actually, yes! I’m surprised you know that, most people don’t.”

“Well, I’m not most people. _Angel._ ” Crowley let the words roll off his tongue seductively, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel drawn in, like being pulled through a sea of molasses inevitably towards a fast-approaching siren. Aziraphale cleared his throat awkwardly, and made to step out of the circle, only to leave a foot dangling just over its precipice. 

“If I step out of this circle, will you...that is to say, would you..harm me? Somehow?”

Crowley seemed to genuinely consider the question, furrowing his brows, before answering, “No, angel. I don’t think I will.”

“R-really?”

“Well, yes, after you’ve offered me tea and everything. Only seems polite.”

“But, you’re a _demon_ , you’re not polite.”

“Aren’t I?” Crowley quirked a smile.

“No, that is to say, yes, of course, my dear, I just---” Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s face went through a thousand different unrecognizable emotions at the simple sentence, or rather the attempt at one. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend, truly. Just. Well, I’m sure you’ve read the books. Demons aren’t well known to be, well, nice.”

“I’m not _nice,_ ” Crowley snarled, and Aziraphale withdrew his foot from the edge of the paint to land firmly back in the circle. Crowley groaned. “Look, I won’t hurt you. I swear. Scout’s honor, see?” He held up his hand in a gentle mockery of trust. “You have my word.”

Aziraphale seemed to think for a long moment, and twisted a small gold band on his right finger, a little golden ring. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again to say, “If you kill me, I...I shall be mad.”

Crowley laughed. “Noted.”

Aziraphale took one last glance down at his feet and crossed the threshold carefully, noticing the drag of his robe behind him and peeling it off of his shoulders, along with the heavy amulet around his neck. “So you said none of this really works?”

Crowley looked at the various items on the floor, and the altar precariously balanced on the shoddy book crate. “Nah, not really. I mean, they’re symbols which carry meanings unto themselves, but as far as providing some protection or magic of some sort, no, they don’t. Sorry, angel.” 

Aziraphale responded with a quiet, “Hm,” and disappeared momentarily to set the kettle on the stove, the familiar click of the fire catching setting his mind at ease quickly, much quicker than one would expect at the knowledge that they had just summoned a demon into their home, and was now making said demon tea as he curled up on his vintage 1920’s armchair. He walked back to the front room, walking up to the small couch that lay there and shifting it to more comfortably face the demon sat across from him.

“So what can I help you with, then, my dear?” Aziraphale started, shifting easily into his practiced role of Bookshop Owner.

Crowley’s cheeks improbably flushed a soft shade of pink. “Me? Uh, isn’t that my line?”

“...Sorry?”

“You summoned a demon to your _home_ , you madman, and your only plan was to have a cuppa? Isn’t there a---a reason you called? A nefarious scheme? Some bloke that needs murdered? Infinite power? A bajillion dollars? Or pounds, notes, kiwi, yen, whatever. Best shag of your life? C’mon, anything, what’d’ya want?” Crowley’s grin grew and grew as he spoke, watching Aziraphale blush roughly along pale, rounded, soft skin and his eyes grow wider with every word.

“Ah, no, dear, none of that will be necessary,” he stuttered elegantly, “I, well, I. It’ll sound...silly, maybe.”

“Hey, demon here, I don’t judge. You ask, I give. Trust me, I’ve gotten some weird ones, you can’t scare me away, angel. Dream of Jeannie, and I’m there, baby.”

“Dream of...who?”

Crowley stared disbelievingly at the man before him, finally taking in all of him, no longer obscured by the black velvet cape that had hidden him in the cover of darkness. His body was full and giving, beautiful in its warmth, in its obvious care and fussiness. Every garment of clothes was meticulously chosen and arranged on his body, a tan waistcoat, boxy old-fashioned trousers, a bloody tartan bow tie hugging the stretched glorious skin of his chin underneath. 

“This is still the 2000’s, is that right?” Crowley shrugged continuing to appreciate the man before him, slowly taking in each piece of Aziraphale and languishing in the awkward shuffle of the other man on the sofa.

“I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question, dear.”

“Yes, well, one can’t be too sure, you know. So, what is it? How _twisted_ and _terrible_ is it that you’ve gotta drag it out?”

“Oh, no, it’s just….well, I--”

“That’s it, angel, tell me your desires, your _needs_.” He lowered his voice seductively, and watched something dark grow in Aziraphale’s eyes, only to immediately dissipate and be replaced by a deep fluster.

“Was just...hoping we could be...friends.”


	3. leo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gotta make it all ~ official like ~ ; )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this one is a little teensy angsty and pining but i promise the next one will be light and fluffy :)
> 
> also thanks to my best friend [@izabella95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izabella95) for her constant support both in my writing and in my life, what would i do without ya??? also her stuff is AMAZING and it always manages to make my day, go check out her fics!!!

“That’s funny,” Crowley quipped back. “It almost sounded like you suggested we should be _friends_.”

“Well...yes, dear, if that’s not...too much trouble,” Aziraphale muttered, trailing off hopelessly, a flash of embarrassment and disappointment rushing through his veins and heating up his cheeks. “Look, I realize it’s silly, maybe this was a mistake and you wouldn’t want, of course, I---”

“Why?”

Aziraphale looked up, and saw a strange mix of conflicting emotions in the delicate lines of the demon’s face. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d say he looked really rather human at the moment. 

Crowley seemed to shake himself out of whatever emotions had surfaced, and cleared his throat. “I have to do it, whatever you ask. I mean. Whether I _want_ or not, kind of the deal, angel. If that’s what you want, sure, yeah, got it, done. But just...why?”

Aziraphale watched as the demon stretched the fingers on each hand open, only to clench his fists, and release them once again. 

“Well, just. Right, so, I. Hmm.” Aziraphale struggled to piece together the reasons which had seemed so simple and concrete 20 minutes ago but that now, faced by a demon’s judgment, seemed small and inconsequential. Crowley just stared back, diligently, patiently.

“Look, I don’t...have a lot of friends,” Aziraphale started quietly. “And I was reading my books--oh, this is my bookshop, by the way--”

“Oh, you’re not robbing the place? Coulda had me fooled,” Crowley interjected with a knowing smirk that Aziraphale answered back with a deathly, teasing glare. 

“ _And_...and, well, all the stories have one thing in common. Friends. And well, I’ve spent my whole life just working so hard to get here, studying, and working odd jobs, and saving money, and running my business, and then one day I looked around and...well. And I...I just wish I had someone to share all this with, to have fun with, you know?”

Crowley sat in silence for a few seconds, a deep frown on his face. “So you summoned a _demon_ to be your friend? Couldn’t just go to a club or something like a normal person?”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his hands, smoothing out the fabric on his trousers across his thighs and then settling for twisting the golden band around his finger once again. 

“Oh, most people don’t...I’m not really the...sort of person people typically seek out. I’ve always been... Well, you know.” He gestured to himself awkwardly. “Look, I know, and I completely understand if you...so if you’d like, you could just--”

Crowley’s heart lurched unexpectedly. “No, no--I just. Well...maybe as your new _friend_ , we could, I don’t know, find you a book club or something. A dance club? Sex club? Anyway, I’ve heard clubs are good for humans, we’ll find you one, I guarantee it.”

Crowley hoped to get a swat from the human for his crude little remark, but instead looked up to find only glistening, hopeful, clear blue eyes.

“Really? You’ll do it?” Crowley felt something heavy in his chest, something thump deep under his sternum that he’d thought had dried up and died millenia ago.

“Sure, angel. I’ll do it,” Crowley said in an unexpectedly quiet voice, a gentle thing he would never admit had come from his own throat. “But you still have to say it. All official-like.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Official? Erm.”

“That’s not in the book, either?”

“I’m afraid not, dear.”

Crowley’s cheeks flared again. _Dear._ Oh, this was already shaping up to be one big, big mistake. Unfortunately, it seemed he actually _liked_ this little human. Humans were tricky, temporary little things. Vile, at their worst and irreparably human at their best. But this one was...different, somehow. Something fragile, something warm. 

Crowley had a long, dark history of mucking up nearly everything he touched. And this one, he wanted to touch.

“This Aleister bloke really bungled up the job, didn’t he? Well, okay, so…” Crowley looked around the room. “You’re gonna need the cape again and the crown, go ahead and put those on, and then stand in the circle and repeat after me.”

“Oh--yes, alright,” Aziraphale scrambled to grab the velvet caped robe he’d unceremoniously dumped inside the circle, and swung it over his shoulders in a movement Crowley couldn’t help but think was quite regal, majestic even. As Aziraphale placed the crown gently over his head, he couldn’t help but notice that Aziraphale’s curls, in this light, looked a bit like the glow of a lion’s mane, proud and wild all at the same time. Or maybe it looked...angelic. A halo. 

The place where Crowley’s heart should have been gave a heavy shudder with something like, maybe...

Oh.

Aziraphale cleared his throat expectantly.

“Yes, ah, words,” Crowley recovered elegantly, “repeat after me: I, Aziraphale, uh..”

“I, Aziraphale Fell,” he completed for Crowley, and stood a bit taller, a bit straighter.

“Of Londontown.”

“Actually, we just call it London these days, dear.”

Crowley glared until after a weary sigh Aziraphale repeated, “Of Londontown.”

“Hereby, sell his... _soul_ to the armies of…” Crowley suddenly found himself trying to swallow down a lump in his throat desperately, thoughts racing across his mind. “Wait, angel, are you really quite sure about this? I mean, not that I disapprove, of course, but it...we could--”

“Hereby sell his soul,” Aziraphale interrupted, stern and determined. “To the armies of...Hell, I presume? In exchange for the...friendship of my dear new friend, Crowley. And, um. Is that..all of it?” Aziraphale drifted off after noticing a small glimmer in Crowley’s eyes, the tiniest of trembles, the set of his jaw. “Did I..say it wrong?”

Crowley swallowed. “No, that was...just fine.”

They breathed together.

“So,” Aziraphale interrupted in a forcibly lighter tone, “Was the robe really necessary? I thought you said none of this stuff really worked.”

“It doesn’t,” And Crowley swallowed once again thickly. He forced a smirk onto his lovely, aching face. “I just think you look good in a crown, angel. Suits you.”

Aziraphale flashed a teasing grin and smacked him playfully on his chest before walking off in the direction of the kitchen once again to quiet the gentle whistle of the tea kettle on the stove. Crowley released a long-held sigh and sat back down on the armchair he’d previously risen from.

“I think we should set some ground rules, angel,” Crowley yelled from his place in the sitting room, grabbing once again the throw pillow and crushing it dangerously to his chest. 

Crowley listened to Aziraphale’s careful gait as he wandered back carefully from the kitchen. Aziraphale set two delicate mugs down on the ivory coffee table, one white porcelain mug and one thick, round dark one.

Crowley stared at the mugs for a second, only to shift his attention to the thick, plump fingers that deftly flickered up and down the table, adding sugar to the white mug with a tiny, silver spoon, and carefully pouring thick, white milk to make artistic swirls in his tea.

“What sort of ground rules?”

“Well, for starters, I can’t stick around all the time. I’ve got other things I need to do. Mischief, other deals, assignments, paperwork.” Not that he wanted to do any of that now. “You know. Demon things.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You may come and go as you please, certainly.”

“And you’ll have to dictate what sort of things we’ll do.”

“Erm..like what?” Aziraphale said suspiciously.

“I mean, do we need to do...friend things every day? Or? I mean, honestly, I don’t really know how this, uh, works.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “The...friend bit?”

“Er, yeah.”

Crowley felt an embarrassed pit in his stomach at Aziraphale’s laughter. “Yes, I’m sure, dear. Charming man like you, no problem with that.”

Crowley took a slow blink.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale continued, oblivious to Crowley’s confusion. “So what now?”

“Hm.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley furrowed his brows for a moment (and no, Aziraphale did not feel a surge of something warm at the facial expression) until he stood abruptly, nearly knocking his ankles with the table. Crowley looked out the darkened window of the bookshop, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. 

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed he’d been sporting a wide, fond smile in the demon’s direction until he felt it slip and fall, some little sliver of hope quickly fading. He stared at the empty spot where Crowley’s body had once been, and he blinked away a sudden, unexpected wetness. 

“Well.” He said to himself, and waited a beat more before resigning himself completely. “That’s what I get for trusting a demon. I’m such an idiot, I--”

There was a harsh breeze that fluttered Aziraphale’s wild curls, and Crowley’s renewed presence in the room took the air out of Aziraphale’s lungs. Crowley hadn’t even looked up, eyes presently trained on his new acquisition and breezing past Aziraphale to place two glasses on the table beside the mugs. He snapped his fingers and the cork popped off a very expensive-looking bottle of wine, and he poured the dark red liquid expertly into each glass. 

Aziraphale watched him do it quietly, something stirring in his chest.

“I guess now, angel, I’m gonna be the best damn friend you’ve ever had. Cheers.” He lifted his glass with a mischievous smirk and waited. 

Aziraphale was still blinking away his whirl of emotions before he picked up his own swirling glass of wine. 

“To us,” he said, a toothy grin on his face, his voice a hushed whisper, a secret for two.

Crowley clinked the two glasses carefully, and Aziraphale could feel the way Crowley’s eyes never wavered, never faltered, watching Aziraphale, as he downed his drink in one go. “To us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who is reading and following, that means so much to me!!! i have no official posting schedule but i promise i am always working on chapters so i'll post as quickly as i can. it makes me so eternally happy that y'all are HERE and every kudo/hit/comment is so treasured, seriously thanks :')


	4. centauri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clubbing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes hello am i posting this from the middle of a zoom meeting? yes. yes i am.

“Crowley, dear, what are we...doing here?”

“The friend thing, I told you.”

Aziraphale had been tirelessly and ardently protecting his books all afternoon from grubby hands and grubby people. He was exhausted. The people always came into the shop with good intentions, and Aziraphale was sure that they were all lovely people. The problem was that they were, by some damn twist of luck, _in his shop_. There were always people wandering in, soaked by the rain, or fingers full of grease or food, and they all absolutely _insisted_ on thumbing through his books, like they were just... _things._ Purchases. 

Aziraphale had just been plucking up the courage to politely convince that lovely older couple that they probably didn’t _really_ need that copy and you know, maybe there might be a larger variety at some _other_ bookshop, when he heard a faint ringing noise in the back of his shop that marked the arrival of a telephone call to Aziraphale’s landline. This was unusual only in the fact that the thing had never rung; Aziraphale’s bookshop definitely _had_ a phone number, for legal purposes, to be used by patrons if they had some question about the hours of the shop or the books available at the time. But the number had never actually been used by any such patron, as the number, by Aziraphale’s very careful work, technically, did not exist. 

And somehow, it was ringing.

It took Aziraphale a second to realize that that was, in fact, his telephone ringing, and grumbled petulantly of the thought of having to actually answer it. He debated quickly over whether he should leave his post at the till staring angrily at the customers in order to answer the phone, when he ultimately decided that he must pick up or risk being impolite, which is something he just did not do. He scuttered into the backroom to pick up the vintage-style telephone to a snarky voice immediately sounding on the other end.

“Aziraphale.”

“Erm, Mr. Fell, if you please. Can I..help you?”

“I keep telling you, angel, that’s my line.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly clutched at the phone pressed against his cheek with both hands. “Crowley! Oh, dear, I didn’t know it was you, I would’ve---”

“S’alright, angel. Listen, friend thing, tonight. Pick you up at 6?”

He blinked, and his heart began to stutter a bit more dangerously now. “T-tonight? That’s a bit...short notice, I…” He paused for a second and listened to the thing on the other end breathe in, and breathe out. Calm as ever. He sighed. “Yes, alright. You said 6 o’clock? What will we be doing?”

“Yeah, alright. Ciao.” And there was a sudden click of the call ending abruptly, so much so that Aziraphale pulled the receiver from his cheek to stare at it in confusion, wondering if the phone itself could have explained to him what all that was about. 

“Ciao,” Aziraphale sighed under his breath exasperatedly, a little smile playing on his lips. He suddenly found that when he walked out of the back room, he no longer minded the people in his shop as much. The weather wasn’t so bad anymore, and he no longer minded the noisy conversations that drifted around his shop. He stood at his desk, playing with his reading glasses in hand, fighting a building fluttering feeling in his belly, the unhealthy stuttering in his chest. He watched the people slowly drift out over the hours, watching the sunset, wondering what he should wear, what they would do together. He didn’t even mind the kind gentleman that actually bought a book that evening, and he closed up a bit early with anticipation of the evening to come.

But of all the things Aziraphale had daydreamed that afternoon about what they would be doing together, it hadn’t been this.

“Dear, I’m not sure I can do this,” Aziraphale glanced up at the Waterstones building, brightly lit in the bustling London street and felt a pit in his stomach.

“Oh, shut up, yes, you can.” Crowley growled back next to him, rocking his weight back and forth on his toes. He glanced at Aziraphale’s face and, spotting the pout there, smirked, the bugger. “Look, this is the friend thing. Book club, I told you. Remember?”

Aziraphale looked down at the floor nervously. It was still glinting with small, remaining puddles of today’s rainy weather collecting across its divots. “I’ve never been to a book club, you know.”

“Me neither,” Crowley smiled wolfishly. “C’mon, then.” He approached the door and opened it, that wide grin never fading, and even bowed a little as he held it open for Aziraphale, who had not moved a muscle. “C’mon,” he whispered, his voice turning low and dangerously seductive. Aziraphale found his feet moving of their own accord.

As he took his first step into the shop, he was immediately blinded by the incandescent shine of a thousand impersonal fluorescent lights and he stopped like a deer in headlights at the doorway, before jumping a near foot in the air at the soft touch of fingers brushing against the crook of his elbow.

“It’s just a bookstore, angel, don’t be frightened,” Crowley muttered tantalizingly in his ear behind him as he led him forward by the elbow, and together they drifted cautiously forward into the jaws of the foreign bookshop. Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s elbow to stroll up to one of the bookshelves arranged near the door, and plucked a book off the shelf seemingly at random to carry with him. “I think you’re meant to pick one, Aziraphale. What’s your favorite?”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly, still recovering from the fact that he was in another bookshop and knowing that somehow, his own bookshop would know. The betrayal was killing him. “My favorite? Oh, I don’t know, there’s so many, I---”

“What was your favorite growing up?”

Aziraphale stopped for a second, wondering whether anyone had ever asked him that. He felt a wave of nostalgia hit him like a wave on the shore, intense, soft, encompassing. “The Secret Garden.”

“Sounds fun,” Crowley said with a little smile. “Alright, grab it, and then we’ve got to go sit down. Should be starting soon.” Crowley said it casually as he stalked up and down the shelves, and Aziraphale wondered hopelessly if this was the sort of thing Crowley did often, socializing and making friends, or whether he was always truly that confident. He felt a surge of jealousy strike unexpectedly, wondering who else he’d taken out to _book clubs_ before, who else he’d showed around town. He shook his head and followed Crowley quickly to find his copy of _The Secret Garden_ , and then Crowley signalled with a nod to the spot deep in the store where a group of people had congregated on metal fold-up brown chairs.

He felt an unceremonious shove on his lower back from Crowley urging him forward, but instead of feeling annoyed at the rude push, he couldn’t help but feel a small shiver run up his spine at the contact on the small of his back. He turned around awkwardly until he saw an empty seat next to the only other man at the event, and hurried to claim that seat before waving Crowley over next to him. 

There were only about ten people in the small circle, a small gaggle of women, a younger person, the fidgeting man Aziraphale had sat next to, Crowley, and himself. He could feel a nervous flutter running under his skin and glanced to his side subtly just to make sure that Crowley was still there. Crowley, of course, saw the movement, and smirked viciously back at Aziraphale. He swore his eyes were glittering even from behind the sunglasses, and Crowley leaned in slowly to Aziraphale’s ear, the air rushing out of Crowley’s mouth and past the shell of it delicately to whisper, “Play along, angel. Make some friends.” He leaned back to sprawl across the metal chair impossibly, taking up as much space as possible, to the irk of the woman sat next to him.

“Alright, everybody!” A loud, chirpy voice perked up. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. Oh, I see we have some new faces today, how _won-_ derful,” the woman said in a predatory voice. “Would you mind introducing yourselves to the group?” She glanced quickly at Crowley with a nervous flit of her eyes, and instead landed them safely onto Aziraphale with a forced smile. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened for a moment before feeling the heavy weight of every person’s gaze falling on him. “Ah. Yes, well. M-my name is Aziraphale.”

“S-sorry?”

“Uh, it’s Aziraphale.”

The woman sighed and said, “Well, why don’t we go with, uh, Zira instead, love?”

“It’s _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley chimed in loudly, and when everyone’s eyes flitted nervously to his all-black, sunglasses, too-cool attire he grinned and added, “Crowley. My pleasure.”

The woman had a highly uncomfortable look on her face and after a moment’s hesitation, clasped her hands together loudly. “Alright! And you, dear?” She turned to face the young man next to Aziraphale.

“Samuel,” he said quietly. He looked around, and when his eyes landed on Aziraphale, Aziraphale couldn’t help but give him a little reassuring smile, which the man returned shyly.

“Thank you, everyone, it’s lovely to have you here. Now,” and the woman strode back to the only remaining open seat in the circle before pulling a small softcover book from under her chair. “Today we will be discussing some of our favorites, would anyone like to go first?”

A few hands shot up, and one by one volunteers spoke about the books they’d brought, all very sophisticated and classic novels, _Pride and Prejudice_ , _Frankenstein_ , _Great Expectations_. Aziraphale squirmed a bit more with each volunteer, wondering how his choice would be received, hoping against all hope that he’d picked something that was more...fitting with the general atmosphere. 

“Mr. ...Zirfel? Would you like to go?” Aziraphale was startled out of his anxious thoughts at the words, realizing he was one of the last to go. 

Crowley beat him to it. “It’s _Azi_ \---”

“Yes!” He dove in before Crowley’s snarl turned into a full-on growl. “Yes, I’ll go. Uh, right. So I’ve picked _The Secret Garden_.” The room turned a bit quiet, and he felt a hot blush run through his face as one of the ladies across the circle snickered under her breath and leaned in to her friend to whisper something in a way that she must have thought to be very discreet. The other woman laughed at the whispered words. “It’s, uh. Well, I picked it because it was my favorite growing up. I was always so enamored with the idea of being rescued by this person that...was so lovely and fun, having a friend that pulled you out of the misery of the everyday…” He drifted off as he noticed another of the women off to the side begin to lead through the book in her hand, mind clearly drifting. Aziraphale cleared his throat nervously. “And the idea of this secret world just for the two of them, this sanctuary, this garden where they could just be free, together. But...anyway,” he finished lamely.

It took the apparent leader of the book club a beat to realize he’d finished speaking, seeming surprised that he’d ever even started speaking at all. “That’s _lovely_ , Mr. Zira. I read that one when I was seven but since have...moved on, I guess,” she said coldly, a thread of condescension dripping off her every word. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth only to be shocked back into silence by a gentle touch at his side, and was surprised to find it wasn’t Crowley’s hand, but the other man’s. Samuel’s. 

“I think that’s a really sweet way of looking at the book, Aziraphale. Thanks for telling us about it.” He flashed a genuine smile at Aziraphale, and he felt his face turn even redder upon noticing the sudden proximity of their faces, at the burning-hot feel of Samuel’s hand on his knee. 

Crowley cleared his throat loudly, so loudly that Aziraphale jumped and Samuel’s hand slipped from his knee. The entire room turned to look at him expectantly and Crowley slipped his hand underneath his chair to pull out a book of his own. “I believe it’s my turn, now, thank you.” He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees, spreading his legs even wider than they had been before, and turned to his side. “That really was...nice---” he said to Aziraphale, in a tone much too soft to believe it had come out of that man’s mouth, and then quite suddenly turned a cold, icy glare to Samuel next to him, and growled, “--- _Aziraphale_.” He let the words linger as he stared down the man, before turning back to the rest of the group. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what had happened but he could physically feel the way Samuel shied a bit further from him in his seat. 

“I’d like to start by introducing one of _my_ favorite books. It is, in my opinion, a parable of grace and authenticity that is vastly underrated by general populace and critics alike because of its lack of inaccessible prose but which demonstrates an undercurrent of humanity that awakens us all.” He finished with a flourish, and every person in the room blinked surprisingly. Aziraphale could feel the waves of sudden admiration and respect coming off the rest of the group, and even Aziraphale felt a pull of wonder at the book Crowley had chosen, at the serious importance Crowley apparently regarded literature and education.

Crowley waited a beat for the desired effect, and added, “I’d like to read a portion of it for your enjoyment today, gentle-people, if you may,” and the woman that had so far directed the activities nodded furiously.

“Yes, of course, please do.” She adjusted excitedly in her seat, finally meeting a man with her own elevated and unique understanding of _good_ literature. 

Crowley nodded and turned the book to his face, as if reading the title for the first time before announcing, “The book’s title is, _Roses and Flame_.” It was at this precise moment that every person in the circle caught a glimpse of the cover, and Aziraphale recognized it as one of those one-pound copies of raunchy, ridiculous romances that littered the front of every bookstore, a half-naked glistening man clutching a swooning, curvy woman surrounded by a cheesy backdrop of a sunset, palm trees, and inexplicably, beds of roses.

Aziraphale dropped his head into his hands, and prepared for the worst.

Just as the panic started to register on the face of the book club’s leader, Crowley began to read graciously, oblivious to the sudden discomfort of every human being in the room. 

“'Fabio came closer slowly, and grabbed me by the waist with an astounding strength, and the muscles of his sinewy arms glistened with sweat in the setting sun. He moved his face to be just before mine and he pulled me closer to him with a strength that made me _quiver_.'" Someone in the group swallowed loudly. "'My red dress waved wildly in the sea breeze, and I whispered to him, ‘Fabio, won’t you stay with me? For in the morning I will have to go, and I may never see you again.’ Fabio smiled, and he snaked his hand lower... and lower ...until I could feel---'"

“ _Crowley,_ oh, my Lord, put that _down_ , already,” Aziraphale jumped in before it could get any raunchier, and Crowley looked up calmly, face as stoic as a statue.

“Hmm?” He pulled his book down from his face and looked around the circle slowly. He took in the assorted blushing faces around him, some eyes were wide and many of the guests had crossed their legs, had shifted in their seats, had gripped the edges of the metal chairs in an uncontrolled fist. The group reeked of _lust_ , and everyone’s cheeks were beet-red. Crowley smiled a deeply mischievous grin, taking in the chaos he’d caused. 

“Yes, well, why spoil it? I do recommend it, though.” 

The woman that had previously taken charge opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, until she shook her head and blinked furiously before smoothing out the fabric at her thighs out in an unnecessary motion. She cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered and tried again, “Yes, thank you, Mr….Mr. Crowley. That was. Mm. Maybe we should...call it a day, everyone.” 

It took a beat, but everyone seemed to stand unsteadily, unsure of the protocol for the uncontrolled rash of emotions hitting them all at once. Crowley just chuckled as Aziraphale rushed forward to grip Crowley’s elbow before rushing him briskly out of the shop. “Yes, thank you, lovely meeting you all!” He shouted back to the group watching Samuel as he walked, and taking in the blushed faces of the rest of the group.

Crowley resisted the pull halfway out the shop and protested, “But, angel, you’re not giving me a chance to purchase my _favorite_ book? It sure sounds delightful, doesn’t it?” He laughed his way through the teasing, only to be met by Aziraphale’s angry glare and a stern, “No more book clubs for you.”

And if Aziraphale felt a little sting of jealousy at the way all those people had looked at Crowley, the way their gazes had lingered hungrily on his retreating back as they left, the way they’d wanted so openly, then it definitely wasn’t worth mentioning. Not to Crowley, and certainly not to his own heart. 

And if Crowley sent a tiny, petulant little curse Samuel’s way with a lingering angry coil deep in his stomach at the touch he’d given Aziraphale then, well. He was a demon. It was his job, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your lovely comments i LIVE FOR THEM and they get me through my grueling week :) xx


	5. ursa minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nice, long chapter!! two friend dates around london for the boys. also PLEASE read the notes today they're important!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay please take a moment to notice that tags have been added, and they may LOOK scary i know, particularly the MCD tag. this has to do with the fact that aziraphale is a human, and therefore mortal. however, (keeping details a bit vague for those who dislike spoilers) that will NOT be the end of the story, I will keep angst to as much of a minimum as possible, and i absolutely guarantee a happy ending. if you would like more details about how this will go down, i COMPLETELY understand and you are free to message me and i will gladly let you know. if this tag makes you not wanna read this fic anymore i completely understand this as well, and apologize for not tagging this from the very beginning. i hope y'all can forgive me!! and thank you again to everyone for reading and commenting. you all have been SO kind and supportive of this story. i hope you all like it!! xxx

“Friend thing?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Aziraphale sternly. He could hear Crowley’s gravelly voice scoff on the other end.

“What do you mean _not_ , that’s my job, innit?”

Aziraphale felt a twang in his chest at the reminder; Crowley was only here because Aziraphale was forcing him, he’d literally given Crowley a _job_. This was business. That’s all.

“Angel?” The voice came just a touch softer, the tiniest hint of hesitancy edging its way through.

“Ah, sorry, dear, I---anyway. No. You are on...how do they say, time-out, I believe.”

“... _Wot?_ ”

“Yes, after, erm...book club, I’ve decided I shall be taking momentary charge of our arrangement for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, talk dirty to me, angel,” Crowley purred back, teasing and playful. “So, do tell. What’s in store for the _Arrangement_ for this week?”

Aziraphale suddenly realized that the word _arrangement_ sounded much different when it came out of Crowley’s mouth than his own, and he gulped. “Well, I. I had an idea.”

Crowley paused. “Well, go on, then.”

“Haven’t been to the London Zoo in a while.”

\---

Crowley snapped his fingers at precisely 2 o’clock on Saturday afternoon directly outside of Aziraphale’s shop and looked up at the place he was slowly growing familiar with, and opened the door slowly, although the door had definitely been locked before he’d arrived and then promptly locked itself once again at its close. The shop was hushed, and the afternoon rays of light were streaming easily through the window. Crowley stood a moment with his hands in the pockets of his skinniest black denim, and watched the dust motes float ethereally through the sunshine. There really was something to be said about Earth, Crowley thought. He heard a wood creak coming from the back room and looked up just in time to see Aziraphale stroll out of the kitchen and slam Crowley with a surprised and utterly joyful grin on his face.

“Crowley! My goodness, I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.”

Crowley blinked behind his sunglasses. “Angel, no.”

“What?”

“Oh, no, angel. I’m not going anywhere with you with that silly little hat on.”

Aziraphale reached up to graze his fingers along the edge of the safari-style bucket hat that sat gingerly amidst his silvery curls as if he’d forgotten he’d even put it there in the first place. “Dear, but it’s so hot outside, we’ll burn up. Look at you, you’re not even wearing a hat! You know, you really ought to take care of your skin, dear boy.”

Something flared under Crowley’s skin at someone...worrying about him. He couldn’t be sure if it was a good feeling or not. “Aziraphale. I don’t need to.”

“Oh, yes, you do! Sun damage is so utterly dangerous, you know, I read that one should be wearing sunscreen almost every _day_ simply because---”

“Angel. I’m a demon. I think I’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale paused, as if realizing this fact for the first time all over again. “You know, I guess I never thought about it. Is your body...demonic? Or is it...?”

It took a good five seconds of staring before Crowley realized that Aziraphale wouldn’t be finishing that sentence, and to realize precisely where it was headed to. “Are you asking me if I’m _possessing_ some poor bastard?”

“Are you?” 

Crowley noticed that, just for a second, he thought he saw something like fear flicker across Aziraphale’s eyes. He also quietly noticed that he didn’t think he really liked to see that look on Aziraphale’s soft features. 

“No, angel, of course not. I wouldn’t.” He watched Aziraphale’s hand come down from his hat, and his face relaxed suddenly, like he was letting out a breath. “Plus, the whole possession bit, it’s a little too _Exorcist_ for me, ya know? Nah, this is mine, always has been.”

“Hmm. Well, it suits you, so.” Aziraphale’s cheeks went a bit flushed at that, and quickly added, “Anyway, this body is also all mine and all too human, dear, and it _will_ burn. The hat stays.”

“What about an umbrella, then?” Crowley swung his wrist up, and suddenly a sleek, black umbrella materialized directly into his hand, opening up neatly over his head in one, smooth motion. 

“ _Crowley_ , what are you doing?! That’s bad luck!” Aziraphale rushed forward to close the thing up before the shop could notice there was an open umbrella indoors. 

“Angel, your best friend is a demon. I think bad luck is the least of your problems,” he responded with a chuckle as the umbrella just as quickly completely disappeared from sight, seeming to tuck into some invisible plane that existed just outside of Aziraphale’s view.

“How about this, dear; what if we buy an umbrella at the gift shop once we get there, and that way we’re supporting the zoological funds, _I_ don’t burn up, and I also don’t wear the hat? Yes?”

Crowley laughed victoriously and snatched the hat from Aziraphale’s head, fingers grazing the soft hairs at his crown, and placed it gently on the coat stand by the door. 

“Deal.”

After a large amount of bumpy buses and cramped, sweaty rides on the Tube, the two finally arrived at the London Zoo, and to Crowley’s surprise, they actually had to _pay_ to get in.

“But it doesn’t make sense, does it, angel? I mean, if I wanted to, I could just summon up a tiger in the bookshop for free, I don’t see why I’ve got to pay the money for the privilege of seeing one.”

“Don’t you dare even _think_ about placing a tiger in the bookshop, Crowley. I’d never forgive you, you fiend.”

Crowley laughed again. “Yes, angel.”

When they arrived at the counter, Crowley insisted on paying, and he just so happened to have the exact amount of money in his pockets for the tickets. He also happened to have the exact amount of change in his pocket later at the gift shop as well, where he bought Aziraphale a bottled water, a lovely little pin Aziraphale had eyed on their way in, and the only style umbrella they had: a small children’s one decorated to look like a lion across its top, ears and all.

He walked out of the gift shop, supplies in hand, with a deep frown on his face as he handed the items to Aziraphale sat on a bench just outside. He almost cracked a smile at the delight that painted Aziraphale’s face at the discovery of each item one by one, and almost laughed despite himself as Aziraphale opened the umbrella over his head with a grin, admiring the lion patterns from underneath its shade. 

Crowley tried for a grumble that failed a bit in lieu of the wide smile on his face that had appeared there on its own and murmured under his breath, “Shoulda just let you wear the hat, this thing is ridiculous.”

The trip was really mostly for Aziraphale, clearly, as he bounced from exhibit to exhibit excitedly reading facts out to Crowley, pointing at animals in the distance and rushing from area to area. Crowley followed along diligently and quietly. 

At one point Crowley noticed that in his excitement Aziraphale had forgotten he was even meant to be covering himself at all from the sun and had now been dragging the lion umbrella behind him carelessly, using it instead to point at exhibits for Crowley to see. 

He reached over very quietly and brought his hand right up to Aziraphale’s, taking the small plastic handle from his fingers while he had been distracted watching the prairie dogs run from edge to edge from inside a glass dome. And if their fingers grazed gently as Crowley’s fingers took over for Aziraphale’s, then neither of them mentioned it. 

For the remainder of the walk, Crowley would follow after Aziraphale dotingly, holding the small umbrella over Aziraphale’s head as he went, providing a near constant area of shade over his head. Wouldn’t do for his... _charge_ to burn up his skin after all, right? That’s his job. He’d be a bad friend if he let that happen, that’s all. Friends watched out for each other. 

At least, that’s what Crowley had read about on the internet.

Crowley made sure to listen to every fun scientific fact that Aziraphale had excitedly explained, and Aziraphale listened in rapture as Crowley mentioned that he had, in fact, seen them all before.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“.....Really, you’ve seen them all? I find that hard to believe, my dear. Some of these animals are quite rare, especially around these parts. I’m sure you haven’t even seen the yellow-bellied black sea snake, that one's quite beautiful.”

“Angel, I _was_ a yellow-bellied black snake at one point,” he chuckled darkly, and tried not to let the dark memories creep onto his face. “It was a long time ago. Not sure I liked it.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s face inadvertently twisted into something upsetting he’d never seen before, and got the urge to apologize. He opened his mouth to do so, but Crowley beat him to it. “S’nothing. But I have seen them at the Ark, you know. They were all there. Every one.”

Aziraphale stared at the side of Crowley’s face for a very, very long time, and Crowley began to grow fidgety under the close scrutiny. He pretended to watch the flamingos dip their pastel heads under water and flap their wings back and forth.

“You mean... _the_ Ark? You were...there?”

“Yep.”

“What was it like?”

“Lonely.” Crowley swallowed. He turned to look at Aziraphale and saw a sadness echoed there that he didn’t really want to think about. He knew very little about friendship, but he knew he wasn’t meant to make the other sad. “C’mon, angel. Lots to see, sun’s going down.”

He wanted to turn and walk away, and he almost did, but remembered he was holding the shade for Aziraphale and so he stopped in his tracks and simply stared at the ground, holding the umbrella up high over Aziraphale, and waited for him to step forward. Eventually, he did.

He followed Aziraphale into the reptile section, where Aziraphale watched the snakes coil with an unidentifiable expression on his face, and Crowley bent down to watch one with yellow eyes with a ferocity he wasn’t sure even he understood. 

They walked on.

As they walked distractedly down the slowly darkening outdoor paths, Crowley couldn’t help but notice the sudden silence of Aziraphale. He thought back to what he’d found on the internet, poring through the little he’d read about Being a Good Friend on Google. 

Telling secrets. Trust.

“Hey, angel,” he said quietly to the man beside him, and watched as his eyes drifted back into focus.

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the statement in obvious curiosity and shook his head empathically. “Yes, of course.”

Crowley lifted one careful, striking eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses, unnecessary in the dim lighting. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, yes. Of course, dear boy, lips are sealed.” Aziraphale mimed a little zipping motion over his lips in an overtly suspicious way, darting his eyes side to side. And damn Aziraphale for drawing Crowley’s eyes to his lips, and at the same time being just so utterly and frustratingly...adorable.

_Dear Lord._

Crowley licked his lips distractedly, and turned his face to stop just short of Aziraphale’s ear. He could feel the warmth of his skin radiating off of him in waves, and Crowley took just a moment to feel it creep under his skin and shiver through his veins, guiding his fingers to grab at Aziraphale’s elbow, stopping him in his tracks. 

“There’s one animal didn’t make it onto the Ark, you know,” Crowley adjusted his grip to tighten his hold, taking full advantage of the closeness, unaware of why he craved it. Only that he did. “Horse thing, with a horn, maybe you’ve heard it?”

“ _Unicorns?!_ ” Aziraphale shouted at a level that startled even seemingly himself, calling the attention of every being left in the zoo at this hour to turn a startled glance their way. 

“Angel, it’s a _secret_ , for Christ’s sake,” he released his hold on Aziraphale to laugh openly and loudly, wondering when was the last time he’d laughed like that. Maybe it’s been a century. Maybe a millenia.

Maybe it’s been a lifetime.

Aziraphale, however, looked devastated. “ _Dear_ , oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” he stage-whispered, hunching his body over and studying Crowley’s face desperately. “Wait, is that true? Crowley, are you teasing me? Crowley!”

“Well, I’m not telling you, that’s for sure. Not much good for secrets, are you?” He was full-on giggling at this point, and felt liberated to do it. Out in the open. With a friend, of all things.

Aziraphale’s gaze turned a playful sort of frustrated and eventually, he, too, began to chuckle under his breath. “Oh, you’re a right _fiend_ , you, really.”

Crowley looked at the little laugh lines that had etched their way onto Aziraphale’s face, and decided determinedly that he had succeeded in getting that sad look off the angel, and found his own cheeks aching with the thought, stretching far more than they ever had before.

They walked leisurely through the rest of the exhibits with faint smiles on their faces, mood once again lifted. The sun had gone down long enough that Crowley could put his tired arm down and had begun to swing the folded, colorful umbrella back and forth on his side. They had drifted closer as the evening had gone, and their shoulders brushed as they passed the bears and the monkeys, the amphibians and the atrium, until Crowley was shaken from a lovely, floaty feeling by a gentle grip on his shoulder. He looked down to find a tired, happy, beautiful man.

“Let’s go home, Crowley.”

“Yeah, alright.”

They rode the Tube together in silence, sitting side by side on the old, sticky seats. After a long while of bumps in the tracks and a slight hypnotic buzzing sound that ever rang through their ears, Aziraphale muttered quietly, “Oh, I do hate the Tube. Takes too long.” Crowley was all too ready to respond when he felt a gentle weight on his shoulder and looked down to find a mess of curls resting on his shoulder, a sleepy angel underneath. He made sure to make no noise for the rest of the ride, and pondered Aziraphale’s passing comment carefully in his head. He woke Aziraphale ever so quietly when they’d arrived at their stop, and walked him all the way home.

///

Crowley could feel a buzzing under his skin, his blood rushing from finger to finger clutching desperately round the steering wheel, his foot slammed down onto the floor, a cackling wild grin stretching the thin skin over his cheekbones in a way he had never experienced before, maybe ever. When he pulled up outside of the bookshop, he could sense the trail of panic and chaos he’d left behind him in traffic, and he could still feel the wind whipping at his hair, at his cheeks. The wheels of the car rolled up over the sidewalk outside of Aziraphale’s shop, impeding the foot traffic there to a near impossible degree, and he could faintly hear a cacophony of honks and distant sirens still ringing in his ear. 

He turned his face to the aging walls of the bookshop just past his window and his smile grew infinitely more as he slammed the heel of his palm across the middle of the steering wheel, resulting in an ear-thrumming honk to resound clear across Soho and gather the attention of every living soul that wasn’t already staring at the glistening velvet-black car parked outside of the bookshop.

Not three seconds of earth-shaking honking had gone by before he’d finally gotten the reaction he’d hoped for. He watched the shop door swing open wildly, a flustered man in a tan morning coat bursting through it. He watched those wide eyes connect with his in the car, and felt his heart flutter wildly as he watched that face quickly shift from panic and confusion to exasperation and the barest hint of a smile.

“Crowley, what on _Earth_ are you doing?” Aziraphale seemed out of breath, and the people on the sidewalk that had been frozen watching the car like it would grow jaws and sharp teeth instead turned to face Aziraphale, wondering how these two seemingly opposite energy forces could possibly have any relation in the slightest.

“Good morning, angel!” He cried out cheerfully as he cranked the window down slowly. “Do you like it?”

Aziraphale stared dumbfounded, unsure of how to answer.

“I got a car!” Corlwey exclaimed, once again slammed his hand down excitedly on the wheel to honk, resulting in two short pips of the shrill noise. 

“Dear Lord, yes, please stop honking,” Aziraphale rushed forward, waving his hands at Crowley to stop. “Come inside, before you awaken the entire country, dear boy.”

“I think they’re awake, Aziraphale!” Crowley slammed his hand down _again_ , drawing it out. He cackled.

“Ah, yes, I believe so,” Aziraphale fussed, opening the door for Crowley and near yanking him out of the car, getting them both out of view as quickly as humanly possible.

“Oh, such a gentleman, Aziraphale, thank you.”

When Crowley was shoved into the bookshop, he found that every customer was frozen in place still, watching the two fumble in with a detached sort of shock, and followed them with their gaze as they walked across the store and towards the ancient till.

“Crowley, what in God’s name is wrong with you? Bursting in like that,” Aziraphale started as soon as he’d shoved Crowley into one of his plentiful armchairs behind the front counter.

“I got a car, angel.”

“Yes, I _saw_ that, you maniac. The honking, the parking? Dear, those sirens weren’t for _you_ , were they? You could have been arrested, you could have been _hurt_ , are you alright?”

Crowley blinked, and he felt every bone in his body grow rigid, every muscle tense, as Aziraphale’s hands cradled his cheeks. He blinked and there they were, warm broad hands stroking his face on either side, Aziraphale’s face just inches from his own, concern etched all over his features. His eyes danced across his face, checking for injuries, for answers.

“M’fine,” Crowley whispered. His lungs weren’t working.

“You idiot,” and Aziraphale let his hands slide off, easy as anything. The charged moment passed, and Aziraphale was none the wiser. “When did you even get a car?”

Crowley swallowed nervously after realizing that was a question, and it was directed at him, and he was meant to answer it.

“I’ve just bought it. She’s nice, isn’t she? It’s a Bentley, I bought it myself.”

“You...why do you even need a car? I thought…” Aziraphale drifted off. “Well, actually, I’m not quite sure how demons get around. Just sort of assumed you...popped in places.”

“Oh, I do. But you take the Tube places. And you hate the Tube. Takes too long.”

Aziraphale had been walking around, arranging pillows in his nervousness, wringing his hands but he came to a sudden stop, processing the statement in his mind. “You...I said that.”

“Yep. So.”

“So you bought a car? Because I said I didn’t like the Tube?” Aziraphale looked down at Crowley beginning to squirm uncomfortably on the quilted patterns of his armchair. “Dear, that’s...that’s very----”

“Ah, no, definitely not,” Crowley jumped in as the tone of his face dived headfirst into the territory of a deep wine-reddish shade high on his cheeks. “See, the less people take the Tube, the less funding for the city, it’s terrible news for London. A-and I’m clogging up the streets, creating traffic, it’s really...truly awful. See?”

Aziraphale watched him squirm for a second and felt a similar squirming in his own stomach. “Of course, my dear. How positively...dreadful of you.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Anyway. So. Friend thing, then?”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry but I can’t now. I’m working. There’s _customers_ ,” he said, letting the word slip off his tongue with distaste. 

“Well, we can just make them go away then, can’t we?”

“Ah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, dear. The shop is open and so people may come and go as they please, unfortunately.”

Crowley grunted in frustration. “Well, just. Can’t you just close the shop?” He asked in confusion, waving a hand around vaguely.

“Well, I might be able to if there weren’t people already here, see. It’s quite rude to just kick them out.”

“And what if they were gone?”

“If they just left? Then sure, I wouldn’t see the harm in taking an early lunch, perhaps.”

Crowley smiled. “Easy.”

He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale noticed with growing horror that there was a subtle but quickly growing scent of smoke in the bookshop and his eyes widened in panic. He watched as the customers lifted their heads slowly only to rush out of the shop in a hurry. 

“The books,” Aziraphale murmured under his breath and ran from behind the counter to run at the shelves before whirling around wildly to find the source of the smell. “Crowley, what did you do?” He exclaimed, and whirled again in place, looking desperately to find the fire, to save his shop.

“Angel, angel, look at me,” Crowley was grabbing at his shoulders briskly with a smile still on his face. “I just made a pizza burn to a spectacular crisp at the shop ‘cross the road, nothin’ in the shop, see?” He took in Aziraphale’s changed demeanor and the smile slipped from his face as he noted the lack of color in Aziraphale’s face, the quickened breath. 

“Woah, angel. Look, I... That was a cruel joke, I wasn’t thinking. It’s fine. It wasn’t even here, it’s across the road, everyone is fine. Books are fine. Everything is fine. I wouldn’t let that happen to your books, yeah? I just---” He choked on his words as he felt strong thick arms wrap around his middle and enclose him tightly in a searing hug. “---wanted them to leave.”

He finished lamely and stood in shock as the angel held him tightly, desperately, head buried against his shoulder. He didn’t move a muscle the entire time they stood there. He couldn’t. Afraid Aziraphale’s skin would burn on contact with his, afraid his body wasn’t built for this, afraid to break the moment, afraid to breathe. 

He held his breath for a long time, and thanked Satan that his body didn’t really need to breathe. He felt a shudder run through his body, down his spine.

Aziraphale pulled back a few seconds later, much too quickly, and pointed an angry finger at Crowley’s face. “Don’t joke about that,” his voice wavered, just a touch.

“Sure. Yeah, alright, angel.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale took a large step back, straightening his bow tie as he went and refusing to look anywhere in Crowley’s general direction. “I’ll just...close up, then.”

Crowley stood exactly where he’d been left, arms hanging awkwardly half in the air as they had been with the hug, still processing the warmth, the strength, that feeling of safety he’d never had before, as Aziraphale fussed about the shop, straightening books, changing the sign on the door, gathering his long overcoat and sliding his arms through the sleeves languidly, one by one. 

“Ready, dear?” Aziraphale finally called out at the door, shocking Crowley out from deep thoughts. He nodded his head, and followed out the door. The door closed with a soft shove, and the resounding silence left behind in the shop was deafening.

That silence followed them both out of the shop, but quickly dissipated the moment Crowley got the car back on the road. He immediately swerved a hard left out of the bookshop and straight into oncoming traffic, and Aziraphale glanced out the window to see a large double-decker bus heading straight for his window. He actually managed to make direct eye contact with the driver of the bus, who looked equally as bewildered as Aziraphale felt. 

“Crowley, look out!” He shouted, arms bracing on the sides of the car, one hand shooting out to grab at Crowley’s shoulder reflexively.

“Relax, angel. I’ve got this,” he said, and all too quickly that manic smile had returned. His hand reached out to the radio and he turned up the music, Mercury’s bright _Bicycle Race_ melodies resonating off the walls of the car’s steel skeleton. 

Crowley tried to keep his foot on the gas pedal as far above the floor of the car as possible, but hey, traffic in London is awful. And there’s only one way to get around it.

By the time the two reached Trafalgar Square, Aziraphale’s hair was stood up in odd places, looking like a chicken that had just been chased endlessly by a very sly fox. His knuckles were white where they gripped the grab handle above his fluffy white curls, and he stared straight ahead with a harrowed expression. Crowley parked the car haphazardly, knowing he might get a ticket. In fact, he was actually fairly sure he would get a ticket. Not that it really mattered. 

“Crowley.”

“Yes?”

“You can’t do _ninety miles per hour_ in Central London.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale turned his head slowly to face Crowley, although he refused to relinquish his hold on any of the handles of the car. “I just did. Plus, I’m not going ninety anymore, see? We’re stopped.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes slowly. “Yes, Crowley. I can see that.” He swallowed. “My ears are ringing.”

“Oh, shut up, angel,” he said, and when Aziraphale opened his eyes again he smiled, fangs just poking out at the edges of his smile.

He stepped out of his car, already feeling the eyes of several passersby on him, likely wondering if he was brave enough to actually park his car there without the fear of it being towed.

He knew it wouldn’t be.

After opening the door for Aziraphale and peeling his fingers from the handle, he slowly led him across the square and towards the large, white stone building up ahead.

“Wait, the National Gallery?” Aziraphale slowed to a stop behind Crowley, who in turn turned around and stopped as well, shoving his hands in his tight pockets.

“Yep, that’s today’s friend thing. Alright? We can...do something else.”

Aziraphale glanced up at the building warily. “No, it’s fine. I just. Well, I didn’t know you liked art, dear boy.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not sure I do. I thought you might, though. It’s quiet, like reading, but...pictures. Dunno. Or we can just grab lunch?”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure you like art?” Aziraphale asked carefully, almost afraid of the answer, afraid of misstepping.

“Oh, just not really something we’ve got downstairs. Art.”

Aziraphale considered this carefully, and twisted a little gold band on his finger idly. “Well, I’ve been to the National Gallery plenty of times. How about I give you the tour?”

Crowley squinted up at the building from beneath his dark sunglasses and shifted noncommittally. “Yeah, why not. That’s a...friend thing to do, right?”

Aziraphale smiled tentatively and led the way up the endless stone stairs. Once inside, Aziraphale could feel a small excitement building in his body, excited to be in control of the interaction for once, rather than the other way around as it has been before. This he knew, this he could do. He’d been to plenty of museums before. 

And now, he has someone to talk to about it.

He walked Crowley around the endless halls and rooms, encountering paintings larger than life, some that stretched several feet over their heads spanning from ceiling to floor, some so small one had to breathe on it to see the details. Aziraphale knew a bit about art, of course he did, reading so many books, he was bound to be knowledgeable. Art and literature have quite a bit in common, really, just stories told in different words, just as Crowley had said. It was a good guess of his, to know that Aziraphale liked art, even though it wasn’t his forte. 

Crowley, for his part, just followed Aziraphale blindly, stopping and inspecting each painting as if he was checking for spots, for a wayward mark, and looking almost _almost_ satisfied when he didn’t find any. He craned his head to see the smaller ones, and squinted to understand the abstract ones. But he said nothing. And he kept his hands in his pockets for the most part. It made Aziraphale nervous. He talked on anyway, but he worried that Crowley wasn’t having fun. He was too quiet.

“And this one, this is a van Gogh. Quite lovely, I’d say.” They stopped in front of a crowded painting and edged slowly closer to the work, just a single precautionary rope dangling between them and the frame. Crowley slid a hand out of his pocket to take his sunglasses from his eyes and slide them up to rest at the crown of his head, and then let his hand fall limply at his side. 

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale scanned the side of Crowley’s face and could read nothing but a blank stare at the canvas, face a mask of apathy. 

“Hm,” Aziraphale made a noncommittal noise and nodded, pulling away to find another painting that Crowley might like more. He only stopped when he felt a small tug at his wrist and looked down in surprise to find thin, slender fingers wrapped around his own. He looked back up in shock but found Crowley still staring at the painting, face unreadable. Aziraphale looked down at his hand again in disbelief and found himself settling back in his previous place, pressed against Crowley’s side in silence. 

The hand never moved from Aziraphale’s wrist, but eventually the fingers relaxed enough that Aziraphale could intertwine his own fingers with Crowley’s. Neither of them looked down. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They just looked ahead. Aziraphale could feel his cheeks turn warm, could feel his palm sweating. He stared ahead resolutely. 

He grazed his eyes over the work, and took in the bright yellows of the sunflowers, noticed the broad strokes of the artist, observed the ethereal bubble of light it impossibly exuded. He wondered if Crowley had ever seen that painting before. He wondered what Crowley was thinking, just now. He wondered if Crowley felt happy looking at it, or sad. He wondered whether anyone had held Crowley’s hand before. He wondered whether Crowley really knew what that meant.

He probably didn’t. He probably hadn’t meant to reach out, had just wanted to stop Aziraphale from moving. He probably thought this was just another thing friends did, it’s possible he does this with all of his friends, surely. Just another friend thing. And it can be for Aziraphale, too.

Just another friend thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -my english was FAILING with this chapter y'all, thank you to everyone who contributed to helping me with the Word Thing. particularly my best friend @izabella95 for identifying that the thing you set hats and things on is a Coat Stand, and to my discord friends who, when inquired about the name for the car thingy you grab when it goes too fast, helpfully suggested the Oh Shit Handle, the Oh Shit Bar, and finally the AAAAAAAAAH, before we figured out that it is, in fact, called a grab handle. thank you everyone :)


	6. aquila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lovely little picnic under the stars, man these boys are really suffering from Lovey Dovey syndrome, huh? me too, sis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks y'all!! another one, thanks for being here and sticking round!! :)

This time, Crowley didn’t call. 

Aziraphale had just managed to very subtly herd people slowly out of the store and he walked around his shop, now devoid of customers just as closing time approached. He ambled through the shelves in weaving patterns with his hands held primly behind his back and he peered around with a watchful eye for any book that was pulled out of place, any title left in the wrong spot. Contrary to popular belief, there was actually a system in the bookshop. Problem was, Aziraphale was the only one who understood it. 

He was just finishing up his inspection when his attention was pulled to the front of the shop, where the bell above the door had just dinged, sending Aziraphale into a state of immediate annoyance.

“I’m afraid we’re _quite_ closed,” he spoke, projecting his voice through the maze of books and towards the front as he weaved his way out from among the shelves. As he reached the front of the store, however, the wave of annoyance immediately dissipated.

“Crowley,” he said, voice eons softer than what it had been just a moment ago. He paused, as Crowley stared straight ahead past Aziraphale, gaze a bit unfocused. “You look...tired.”

“Mm.” 

Aziraphale studied Crowley carefully, and saw that his usually perfectly coiffed hair looked a bit disheveled; his clothes looked just a tad out of place, and there was a smudge of black soot smeared under a cheekbone. His glasses were on. 

“You...are you alright, my dear?”

“Hmm. Yes. Yeah, angel,” he pulled a deep inhale into his lungs and drew himself up harshly, straightening his spine like he’d only just realized where he was. “Uh, friend thing.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands in front of him, desperate to reach out and fighting the impulse. “You wanna do a friend thing now?”

“Yeah, any ideas?” Crowley waited a beat before adding, “We could do, I don’t know. Pictures. Or. Just, you pick.”

“You’ve had a long day, dear. You look tired.” This time the words seemed to hit Crowley straight in the chest as his eyes connected with Aziraphale’s from behind the glasses, and his limbs suddenly dropped down heavily, like a puppet whose strings had been sliced without warning.

“I have.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, unable to resist any longer, and rubbed a thumb at the soot that marked his face, wiping it away as best he could without being too harsh. And he could’ve sworn, just maybe, Crowley’s face had angled itself just a smidge closer to his palm so close, so warm. “How about dinner?” He asked in his gentlest voice. Crowley smelled of heavy smoke, a deep, fiery, terrifying thing.

“Sure, angel.” Aziraphale smiled easily and pushed him into an armchair, where Crowley grabbed a tartan throw pillow and held it tightly to his chest. Crowley watched as Aziraphale scuttered into the kitchen, and closed his eyes, listening to Aziraphale putter quietly around the shop. He liked the quiet, here.

\-- 

“You know, when you said dinner, angel, I thought we were going someplace,” Crowley said curiously as he settled the blanket carefully down onto the dewy grass.

“We are someplace, Crowley.”

“I meant like a _real_ place.”

“This is a real place, Crowley.”

Crowley threw an annoyed look Aziraphale’s way, and was rewarded with a cheeky grin as Aziraphale settled down onto the blanket, resting an aged wicker basket between the two.

“You know what I mean,” Crowley said with a frown.

“We could go someplace else?” Aziraphale darted his eyes to the side to glance at Crowley, but he knew the answer would be a resounding---

“No, of course not. Big...picnic guy me, angel. Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Yes, well. I thought you might enjoy the quiet tonight.”

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale a bit better and felt a little guilty stab, wondering just how much Aziraphale managed to pick up from just his facial expressions, from his body language, the more they spent time together. He’d have to work on his poker face. If only for Aziraphale’s sake.

“M’fine,” he said quickly. At Aziraphale’s patient silence, he added. “Quiet is...good, tonight. Yeah.”

Aziraphale began to unpack the carefully arranged items inside the basket, and placed them with a painful care between them on the blanket. He had carefully wrapped two small wine glasses and a dark bottle of the good stuff, along with small colorful plates, a tiny tin of biscuits, and some sandwiches that were quickly getting a bit soggy from its ingredients. There were glistening sets of cutlery, too, wrapped in kitschy little cloth napkins. Crowley couldn’t help but watch with fascination at the love with which Aziraphale moved, how much he cared for these tiny, inconsequential items. He had trouble understanding, having seen entire civilizations come and go, watched them built up so carefully and then crash down and disappear in seconds. But oddly, he thought, watching Aziraphale, maybe he could understand. 

“So why’d you pick this spot?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale looked up from his careful work to watch Crowley quickly turn his head up to the heavens, a sunset starting to paint the sky an amalgam of bright pinks, purples, oranges. There were reds too, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but compare the fire red of Crowley’s hair to the bright streaks in the sky, and found them lacking in comparison. “Oh, I don’t know. Just an open clearing where we could be in peace, I guess. Out of the city. I like watching the sky, you know. The stars. Lots of history, there.”

“History?”

“Yes, well, aesthetically, they’re beautiful, of course. But when you look up, it’s just blinking lights. But there’s so much science there, so much history, so much time. They are...these huge balls of heat and fire and explosion whose light has to travel for years and years to get to us. Some of them may already be dead and gone for thousands of years and yet, here we are, witnessing them.”

“Mm. I like that.” There was a small pause. “And the history, you said?”

“Well, people, you know, they make constellations out of them. Funny little pictures. We look up and see bears and wagons and spoons, stories of gods and people long past. And the people who made those are long past gone, too. We’re looking at their legacy, in a way. Every night, we look up and appreciate something that generations of people have looked upon, have named, have created.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and let himself get lost in the mental images, before blinking away the magic that threatened to drag him away from the present. He ducked his head self-consciously. “But, of course, that’s all just...idealism, maybe.”

He turned to see Crowley leaning back on his palms, staring straight up. “I think that’s nice.”

Aziraphale sighed and found himself mirroring the position on the blanket to lean back and watch the colors streak across the blue-ish expanse. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, but just a few languid minutes later, Aziraphale blinked himself out of his reverie and looked down at the sandwiches slowly growing soggier by the minute.

“Oh, dear, we really should eat soon,” he reached forward and began distributing the items. Crowley said nothing, but also reached forward to take a sandwich from Aziraphale’s hands. They ate quietly, nothing to say, enjoying the comfortable silence, the stillness, the breeze just barely blowing wisps of hair out of their faces, the clouds shifting slow, like molasses, across an endless expanse.

The two of them sitting there, at that precise moment, were experiencing a wonderful moment, a moment that lived in each of their minds separately but that they would have realized were quite remarkably the same, if they had spoken the thought out loud. Both of them had just had the wildly shocking thought at just about the same moment in time that they couldn’t remember the last time they had each felt so at peace. In the grand scheme of things, they were both really very small, but suddenly the thought didn’t seem so bad, now that they were not alone.

They were frozen in time, like that, until the sky started to turn a darker hue.

Crowley poured them each a glass.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence for the first time in an hour, “If it’s the stars you like, there’s other places we could go.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale focused his eyes on Crowley’s and found it surprisingly hard to find him in the darkness, here with no lights except those of the last dredges of sunlight and the emergence of a sliver of moon.

“I mean, it’s nice and dark here, but we could go someplace really far with no light pollution, you know?”

“Oh, like out in the woods or someplace?”

“Yeah, sure. Something like that. If you like.”

“Oh, or we could go to a conservatory!” Aziraphale’s face twisted into a gleeful expression and he wiggled his torso excitedly, bunching up the blankets underneath him. Crowley frowned.

“Yeah, sure, we can do that, too.” His brows furrowed. “Didn’t know you liked plants.”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, confusion clear on his face. “Plants?”

“The...conservatory?”

“Oh, dear, no. The place with the stars.”

Crowley stared indignantly down at Aziraphale and they traded a quiet confused look while Crowley racked his brain. “...Angel, do you mean an observatory?”

“Yeah! Same thing.”

“Angel, no, it’s not.”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted from side to side, trying to understand his own blunder. “The place, you know, you go there as a kid and they teach you about the stars and planets and things? You must know. Is that not...it?”

Crowley’s voice rose and pitched higher in exasperation. “Wait, that’s a planetarium, Aziraphale.”

They stared at each other, both utterly lost. 

“Angel.”

“...I’m sorry, did you say a conservatory is a _garden?_ ”

It took a moment for the statement to process fully in Crowley’s brain but the second it caught up, Crowley’s face broke into a larger-than-life grin and he began to laugh uncontrollably, spilling a bit of wine as he gripped his glass tightly and whipped it wildly over the blanket. 

“Angel, hold on, hold on---”

“No, wait---”

“What _exactly_ did you think was the difference between all of those things?”

“Erm,” Aziraphale shifted nervously on his side of the blanket, but could feel an embarrassed smile creeping its way onto his face. His cheeks felt hot. “I...didn’t think there was a difference. Are they not, well...synonyms?”

Crowley laughed loudly, and the sound seemed to echo deliciously across the open fields of long grass. He gripped at Aziraphale’s shoulder with the hand not precariously swinging the wine around. “Angel, I swear I’m not laughing at you. I’m just---” he giggled, “What do they teach you in these schools?”

Crowley took a deep swig of his wine and almost spit it back out when Aziraphale began to join in the laughter. “Oh, dear, I...So many years, and I had no idea.”

Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale could see just the barest hint of that wine-red tincture on Crowley’s tongue and he had a fleeting, shocking, magnetic thought wondering just how much better this wine might taste on Crowley’s lips. 

“Alright, angel, here goes. A conservatory is a sort of greenhouse---”

“ _Since when?_ ” 

Crowley struggled to breathe from the laughter. “Since _forever_ , angel, it is. And an observatory is like a giant telescope. A planetarium is like a museum, where they teach you about astronomy. But it’s not actually...you can’t see the stars from there.”

“I’m confused; so if I wanted to see the stars, where would I go?” Aziraphale could feel the wine rushing to his cheeks, to his head, to the place on his shoulder where Crowley was still gripping him tightly.

“Outside,” Crowley said breathlessly between bouts of laughter, and was rewarded with a sharp, playful swat to his chest. 

“You absolute fiend, _fine_ , forget the stars---”

“Oh, _no_ , I couldn’t, angel, now we’re going to all of the star places. You like stars? We’ll go see stars, I’ll even take you to a conservatory, maybe you can see the stars through the glass ceilings---”

“Crowley, one more word and I will leave you here, I swear.” Aziraphale could feel an aching in his stomach, he couldn’t remember laughing this hard in decades.

“I _drove_ you, what do you mean?”

“I will walk if I must.”

“Oh, hush,” Crowley laughed, a beautiful ringing sound Aziraphale was sure he could listen to forever, and he felt it as Crowley squeezed his shoulder one last time for good measure and let his hand drop easily. 

“Oh, angel.”

“ _One_ word, Crowley.” He laughed, and finished his glass in one fine swoop before setting it down among their belongings. 

“We finished the bottle, angel.”

“Shame,” Aziraphale said, and he meant it. That sounded like a goodbye, and he, selfishly, didn’t want to let go just yet.

Although, it seems that Crowley wasn’t of that mind either, as he flopped down dramatically to lie on his back. Aziraphale followed suit.

“I helped make some, you know.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Erm, wine?”

Crowley chuckled. “Well, yes. But stars, I mean.”

Aziraphale looked up and watched the stars blink for a long time before responding.

“You did a wonderful job, dear.”

Aziraphale could feel as Crowley’s body went rigid beside him, but he said nothing. In fact, neither of them spoke up for a long time. But this time, Aziraphale broke the silence.

“Sometimes, I forget how old you are, Crowley. What you’ve done.”

“‘S that bad?”

“No. It’s...shocking. I feel very---” Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “---small. I just...feel like I’ve tied a shooting rocket to my pinky finger. Does that make sense? Is that wrong?” He waited for a second before adding, “Did I make a mistake? Am I forcing you to be here?”

“Angel, no. I…”

“I’m sorry, if I---”

“No. Angel, it’s okay,” Crowley soothed. “I do like being here. With you. ‘M old, that’s all. I can stop...saying things like that if it bothers you, though.”

“No, it doesn’t, really, dear. I just, I feel awful, sometimes, if I really think about it. Me keeping you here, it’s---” He thought of all the friendships he’d soured, all the potential lovers he’d gently pushed away, the connections he’d ruined, the interminable ache at wondering just when this one would go wrong as well, the thought that by its own creation he’d already ruined this all, the one good friendship, the one genuine person he’d seemed to find in his entire life. He hadn’t realized he was rambling, hadn’t realized how fretful he’d become, until he felt a cold hand slide into his, and his mouth clicked shut.

“I like being here with you, angel. This is nice.”

Aziraphale squeezed the hand in his, and found an infinite sort of solace in just that, in just holding. This presence, this friendship, this resounding _you are not alone in the universe, not when I’m here_ that Crowley gently gave to Aziraphale, again and again.

Aziraphale breathed, and breathed again, and breathed again. “Thank you, dear.”

And the next week at the planetarium, Aziraphale finally got his revenge on Crowley for all his teasing at their picnic; he made sure to recount every single mythology, every legend and every constellation he could possibly remember and explain in excruciating detail every fact he could recall. They sat in the dark auditorium of the museum, sitting very closely together in the tiny, school-age seats under the brightly-lit dome where pictures of stars danced over their heads. The narrator’s voice droned on, but Aziraphale made sure to whisper right in Crowley’s ear for the entire hour presentation about all the little tidbits of knowledge he’d picked up in his readings over the years, sure to be as annoying as he could possibly be. But try as he might, Aziraphale never seemed to bore Crowley, or annoy him. Almost seemed like he enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i'm not gonna say that *I* did not know what the difference was between conservatories, observatories, and planetariums, and i *sure as hell* won't throw my best friend [@izabella95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izabella95) under the bus and say that this was a real conversation we had because apparently we both just....don't know these things despite loving astronomy.....but i will say that it is in fact possible that this chapter was based on a real conversation. i just won't say whose. 
> 
> thank y'all so much for being here i love you SO MUCH. :') seriously. i go through comments on bad days and with the...everything going on, that's been happening quite a bit, and know that the fact that y'all are here, reading this self-indulgent rambling thing of a fic is so lovely. thank you.


	7. ophiuchus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i'm old enough to know that a longer life isn't always a better one. in the end you just get tired. tired of the struggle. tired of losing everyone that matters to you. tired of watching everything turn to dust. if you live long enough, the only certainty left is that you'll end up alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhhhhh i apologize for the absolute length of this chapter holy moly. i've planned out the rest of the fic and we have a final chapter count of 12ish, but expect the rest of the chapters to be LONG because apparently i'm packing ALL the things into each chapter. anyway, i hope y'all like this one!! thank you for the incredibly kind comments y'all have been leaving, you're all ANGELS and i LOVE YOU SO MUCH every single comment and kudo makes my entire week. seriously. thank you. :')
> 
> -p.s. today's chapter title is a cute little reference to my [pirates fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858217/chapters/52167508) which will always be my baby, in case y'all need something new to read....:)

Aziraphale started his morning like any other Saturday morning, and was still enjoying the languid stretch of the early day rays as he lounged in bed. He was sat up against the headboard, legs tucked underneath the light, fluffy duvet on top of which also rested a thick and heavy tartan blanket. The sunshine weaved its way in through his open window, but there was still a chill in the air that drifted in and gave him little goosebumps across his arms. He pushed the small, thin glasses further up his nose, and turned the page of his most recent novel. Beside him was some rapidly cooling tea that sent whiffs of chamomile circling into the air.

He read slowly, calmly, having decided pleasantly that he had the day off simply because he had said so, customers be damned, and basked in the knowledge that there was nothing for him to do, no books to be reshelved, no customers to shoo off, no cleaning. It was nice. It was rare.

Except that as Aziraphale curled his toes happily under the covers, he began to wonder what Crowley might be up to. Surely, he didn’t get mornings like this. Aziraphale doubted that Crowley ever got to wake up and bask in the warmth and read a book or two. He couldn’t stop thinking of that day, just before their little picnic, finding him harried and shell-shocked and smelling of smoke still. He’d looked so existentially tired, underneath it all, even from beneath his layers of cool and apathy and his sleek black clothes and dark glasses. He was tired, and sad, and lonely, too. 

Aziraphale found himself staring blankly at the page before him, not even registering the words on the pages anymore. Crowley probably didn’t get blankets and tea and Saturday mornings, did he?

Aziraphale didn’t notice how much time had passed until a sharp ring of his phone downstairs shocked him back into reality, and he shoved all those dark little thoughts back into their dark little drawer in his brain. He scampered down the stairs to the phone and picked up eagerly, still wearing those thin silver glasses and now donning a pair of cuddly slippers.

“Good morning, angel.”

“Good morning, Crowley,” Aziraphale said warmly, something melting away in his brain at the tone of Crowley’s rough voice on the other end. “I was just thinking of you.”

“Of...me?”

“Yes, I was just---” he stopped himself. “Well. Doesn’t matter, how are you, dear?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Erm, good, yeah. Friend thing today?”

“Yes, of course. Although, I must confess, I’m still in my pyjamas. I’ll need some time to get ready.”

“Hm.”

“...That alright?” Aziraphale twisted the loopy cables connecting his phone to the rest of the apparatus in his fingers.

“Oh, yeah. Just woulda guessed you were a morning person, up early, all that.”

“Well, I was awake, I’ll have you know. Just taking the morning off. Nothing wrong with that.”

Aziraphale could hear the smile on the other end. “Of course, angel. So when can I pick you up?”

Aziraphale looked down at himself, feeling a bit exposed now that he thought of the idea of Crowley seeing him like this. He reached a hand up quickly to his hair, a bit flattened in some places and wildly fluffed in others. “Well, should we do dinner instead? Early dinner?”

“Sounds great. Meet you at five.” Crowley waited until he could hear the click of the receiver on the other end before he hung up his own phone. He twiddled the mobile, and wondered what Aziraphale looked like on a lazy weekend morning, warm and safe in a small little room over a small little bookshop. It was a nice thought.

Five hours. He twisted the phone unsteadily in his fingers, and then stuffed it into the pockets of his trousers. He could do five hours.

And exactly five hours later, he drove up slowly in his glistening silk black Bentley to the curb of the bookshop’s exterior. He wasn’t sure who had actually driven them there, Crowley or the Bentley itself, as they both had quickly memorized the route a long time ago. Just a few months had passed, and it’s like the Bentley had been taking him here for years. 

As he rolled to a slow stop, he noticed Aziraphale already waiting outside, wearing his usual waistcoat and pressed shirt, matching trousers. He was also wearing a longer coat on top the color of cream and coffee, and a soft striped scarf tied loosely around his neck. Crowley watched the dusting of pink on Aziraphale’s cold cheeks turn a bit brighter as he noticed the car pull up.

“Good morning, Crowley!” He waved frantically as he made his way to the car, and Crowley waved awkwardly back, mirroring his smile without meaning to.

He waited until Aziraphale made his way into the car before responding, “It’s hardly morning anymore, angel.”

“Yes, well, you’re the first face I see today, that makes it morning.”

Crowley scoffed at the logic of that sentence, but still felt a surge of fondness at the thought that he was the first thing Aziraphale had thought of today, the only thing he’d gotten out of bed for. He smiled despite himself. “Got a little surprise for you today.”

He turned up the heating in the car, despite not feeling any cold himself, and slammed his foot on the pedal. And even if Aziraphale was more than used to the speed by now, he still made a comment every single time; just a little, “Crowley, _please_ , there’s really no need,” or sometimes a quick, “Careful! Oh, dear, please watch for pedestrians, one of these days, oh.”

When they arrived at the huge building, Crowley parked right at front, illegally, and jumped out to open the door for Aziraphale. He watched as Aziraphale stepped out and immediately let his gaze travel upwards at the outstanding height. 

“Crowley, is this the right place?”

“Sure is.”

“But...it looks very fancy, dear.”

“Eh, it’s not really.”

Aziraphale refused to take a step from his spot in front of the door. “Dear, I’m not sure I’m dressed for this, what are we doing?”

“Angel. Do you trust me?”

Crowley watched for a shift of eyes, for a licking of lips, for a sign of hesitation. Instead, just the sure and true, “Of course, dear.”

Something inside Crowley’s chest cavity shifted. “Well, come on, then.” He looped his arm and extended an elbow for Aziraphale to latch onto, which he took gratefully before carefully stepping forward. 

They walked forward through a small, glistening balcony and nodded to a polite doorman before stepping into the large, hollow elevator that quietly whirred as it drove them up countless floors. Aziraphale dutifully stood by his side without a word of protest, but he hadn’t let go of Crowley’s elbow just yet. When the doors dinged open quietly it was to a busy, bustling world of green.

A doorman opened the glass swinging doors for the two to step forward and Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s eyes widened comically and then proceeded to stop in his tracks, nearly bending over in fits of laughter.

“A conservatory,” Azirpahale breathed out.

“Yes, sir. Told you, we can do all the star things, no problem.”

“You’re the worst, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s laughter died off slowly, but the wondrous grin on his face remained, carving little dimples into the sides of his cheeks that Crowley desperately wished he could reach out and feel. “Where are we?”

“The Sky Garden. It’s beautiful, right? I’m surprised you’ve never been here before.” Crowley had found it on every list of Top Things To Do in London on his weekly Google search for things to do so Aziraphale wouldn’t grow bored with him.

“Oh, I see,” Crowley tracked his movements as his eyes wandered across the entire floor, taking in the colors, the verdant greens and bright stark white of the floors. “I’ve heard of it, but...it really is more beautiful in person.” Crowley felt Aziraphale’s grip loosen on his elbow and was ready to mourn the warmth, only to feel the hand slip casually, so perfectly right into his. Crowley had just a moment to feel the shock of it roll down his spine before the man at the front waved them over and led the pair to their table up some steps and across some winding paths. 

Crowley looked up as he walked, swinging Aziraphale’s hand lightly as he did, and truly took in the sight for the first time. The pictures really did it no justice. The room was enormous and expansive, all painted the brightest white that almost hurt the eyes to look at, only interrupted by the dark inky greens of plants _everywhere_ , planted on the floor in bushes, and climbing up stairs and hanging overhead as trees and vines. The room was divided into various levels and had stairs and steps everywhere, paths that led to nowhere but more leaves. The smell of wet soil permeated the air deliciously, and every step felt like wandering deeper into the abyss of Eden. 

And most striking of all, one entire wall of the room was made of thick glass that overlooked the whole of London. From here you could see everything, the winding Thames, the touristy buildings, the tiny alleyways, bridges and buses and endless sky. It was lovely.

Crowley emerged from his reverie to the sweet melody of Aziraphale’s polite thank you to the waiter, and they took their seats at one of the many small round tables. They were fairly hidden from view among the towers of green, but they could still see the room in its entirety. 

“So, d’ya like it?” Crowley asked, knowing the answer already just from the smile that just wouldn’t seem to fade.

“It’s extraordinary, Crowley, thank you for bringing us here. This is amazing.”

“Feels like Eden,” Crowley said, looking back out at the London view beneath them.

“Yes, it does,” Aziraphale replied. 

They both ate in relative quiet, shocked to silence by the strangeness of the room, by the awe reflected in them both. 

Crowley would glance up occasionally and make sure Aziraphale was still happy, was still eating, and watched him stare in awe at the city below them, at the trees around them, and occasionally, at Crowley. When Crowley would catch him looking, Aziraphale would blink quickly and pretend to be very invested in his dinner.

“Good?” Crowley said towards the end of their meal, the first word spoken in nearly an hour. 

Crowley watched some far-off thought drift away in Aziraphale’s eyes as he blinked himself back into the room and looked down at his plate, surprised to see it was almost empty. “Oh, yes, it was delicious. This was such a lovely meal. I’m sorry I’ve been...distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“Yes, it’s just. A lot on my mind today, I suppose.”

Crowley shifted in his seat. “Is it bad stuff?”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale jumped in. “No, it’s not bad, per se. Just thinking. And the place, it’s so nice. It’s such a nice place to be, isn’t it?”

Crowley looked around, and despite the low buzz of other patrons, tourists, waiters, he found that yes, it was a nice place to be. 

“Might be a nice place to read, hm?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale wiggled excitedly, silver fork still in his hand. “Oh, you’re absolutely right. What a reading nook. Maybe someday I’ll have to come back with a book and settle in.”

“Why not now?” Crowley said, shoving another mouthful of blood-red dripping steak into his mouth. Crowley watched Aziraphale squirm in his seat a bit before taking a sip of his equally red wine.

“W-well, I didn’t bring any books, and I. Well, I’m here with you, I couldn’t possibly just---”

“Which one would you like? _The Secret Garden_?” Crowley snapped his fingers and his fingers curled around the small paperback already resting between his fingertips and he set it down gently on the white tablecloth. “Was thinking of that when I booked the table. Feels a bit like a secret garden, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale blinked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

“Or something else? What are you reading right now?” He tightened his hold on his glass and sat back in his chair, swirling the wine as he leaned carefully. He watched Aziraphale and began feeling just a touch nervous at the dragging silence. 

“Well, I’m.” Aziraphale started. “I’m...right now, I’m reading _The Great Gatsby_. But I don’t---”

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the exact copy that had previously been resting on his nightstand was now in a delicate balance between Crowley’s thin fingers. It still had its red ribbon bookmark peeking out from where he’d haphazardly placed it this morning. “There we are. Do you need anything else? Blanket, maybe?”

Aziraphale could feel an inexplicable tug at his throat, something stuck there. “Dear, no. I couldn’t just make you sit there and wait, I’m sure you have...other things, this’ll be...frightfully boring, really, I…” He twisted the fork around in his hand, unsure of what Crowley wanted, of what he was saying, of what he was doing. 

“It’s alright, angel. I’d like to. And more importantly, you’d like to. So. But let’s get closer to the window, yeah? More sunlight. You done eating?” He began to stand as he spoke, making a grab for the unopened wine bottle on their table and cradling the two near empty glasses against his chest for balance. 

Aziraphale floundered and found himself blushing, uncertain of whether it was rude to make your friends sit with you for hours while you did something so...mundane. It didn’t seem right. 

But Crowley was there, waiting on him. “Y-yes, yes, I’m done,” he set down his fork with sweaty hands and stood, grabbing his books as he went, surprised to see that these were, in fact, his books. “Oh, do we still have to..?” He nodded to the table and instinctively reached for his wallet in his coat pocket.

“Oh, nah, angel, all covered already.” Crowley made his way down a short set of stairs and only looked back once to ensure that Aziraphale was still behind him. He was, though a bit tense for some reason. He made his way to an uninhabited corner on the floor against the enormous glass window, and sat on some miraculously placed cushions on the floor. For a second, it seemed that a waiter or two had spotted them and had begun to make their way over, maybe to reprimand them on stealing some glasses from the table, but just as they seemed to start their journey over, they would immediately change their minds and forget where they were headed, only to head back to the tables in confusion.

“There, angel, all set? You sure you don’t want that blanket? It’s a bit cold.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, twice, and finally spoke. “No, that’s alright. Are you...Crowley, are you sure? This must be so boring for you, don’t you want a novel maybe? Or you could go home and I’ll stay or---”

“Nah, angel, settle in.” Crowley sprawled elegantly over the cushion, his head arched back and rested on the glass window behind him, the afternoon sunlight beaming just over his face and casting sharp angles. His eyes were closed and the sunlight hit his eyelids at a strange angle, and he seemed to melt into the beams the way a snake settles on a desert rock.

Aziraphale worked himself up for a quiet evening by Crowley’s side, and simultaneously felt happier than he’d felt in years, comfortable in the knowledge that Crowley didn’t mind his reading, that encouraged his introverted, quiet ways, that they were a perfect fit, somehow, and also the knowledge that maybe he should talk to Crowley, should entertain him somehow, should be a Better Friend. But he fought off the dark little thoughts again, and found that Crowley’s unnerving peaceful disposition calmed him more than anything else could. He settled on his cushion, and opened his book.

Hours later, the sun had almost set, and Crowley had blinked open his eyes, adjusting to the light difference, the last dredges of color casting astonishing patterns on Aziraphale’s hair. Crowley knew this, because Aziraphale’s head had somehow landed on his lap, and Crowley carded his fingers delicately through the curls as the man slept, having dozed off in the middle of chapter 17. 

Crowley turned his head to the side against the glass still to watch the last of the sun going down, inch by inch, infinitesimally, and he wondered at how just a year ago he could have sworn with all the surety in the world, that his entire existence from the Beginning of Time to the End of Time would be exactly the same as it always had been. Quiet. Alone. Bitter. Infinite. And suddenly, here he was, precious little human, so small in the cosmos and so meaningless in the long, long line of time, and his head pillowed on Crowley’s lap. 

It was extraordinary, and haunting. Crowley wondered how much time they had left. Weeks, months, years. Even decades seemed not enough. To a thing like Crowley that was barely a blink of an eye, and he felt a dreadful shudder at the thought that one day he’d have to go back to the life he’d always had, but now with the memory of this, of lunches among trees and rides in the Bentley and book clubs. He carded his fingers again carefully, carefully, across the tufts of hair and felt comfort at the solid weight of him, at the constant warmth of him, at the fearless feel of skin and bone and muscle and blood that kept him alive. 

He swallowed and closed his eyes again. 

Aziraphale woke with a start, much later, to a nearly dark room. The sun had set a long, long time ago it seemed, and the place was empty. He rose up quickly and was surprised to see he’d been laying over Crowley, head on his lap it seemed. 

“Crowley,” he whispered harshly, still shocked at his surroundings.

Crowley jumped sharply at the voice, jolting awake and searching the room quickly. “What, what is it?”

“Where is everyone?”

Crowley looked around to find a completely empty garden and a completely empty restaurant, all the lights turned off and only a faint glow of light emanating from the city lights beneath them. All the waiters and kitchen staff had disappeared, and all the tourists had long since been shooed out.

“I think,” Crowley started, stretching his limbs out appreciatively now that he could move once again, “---that we have overstayed the restaurant hours.”

Aziraphale looked around. “But...why didn’t they kick us out?”

“Mm. I made sure they wouldn’t bother us.” Crowley let his head hang back once again onto the now frigid glass behind him in the darkness and added at Aziraphale’s obvious confusion. “You looked really comfortable.”

Aziraphale blinked, and thanked God for the dimmed lighting as he remembered where exactly his head had been resting moments ago and felt his cheeks burn. He looked around for his copy of _The Great Gatsby_ only to find it closed and set with a bookmark by Crowley’s side.

“I should let you go home, Crowley, I apologize for...falling asleep on you. _On_ you.”

“Nonsense, angel. You still tired?”

“Well. I mean, not really, I think. I just slept for…”

Crowley reached his arm up to glance at the watch on his wrist. “‘Bout three hours.”

“ _Three hours?_ Crowley, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have---” Aziraphale pushed himself onto his feet unsteadily, so much so that Crowley had to jump up as well to steady him as he stood. Aziraphale stepped away from the helpful hand at his arm and straightened himself up primly. “I’ll let you get home, really, I---”

“I was only asking ‘cause---” Crowley jumped in, and spoke before he could think better of the words. “I was asking because I don’t want the evening to be...over. Wanna do something else?” He waited anxiously for a beat before reading Aziraphale’s defensive posture and added, “Of course, no. I’ll take you home, it’s been a long day and---”

“Crowley.”

“Hm?”

“You want to...keep going?”

“Yeah, I mean. Why not? I have somewhere we could go.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What could we _possibly_ do this late, dear?”

Crowley’s smile stretched mischievously. “I’ve got an idea.”

Crowley bent down to pick up the tattered hardcover on the floor, and beckoned Aziraphale to follow as he strolled out of the garden, willing locked doors to open and out-of-service elevators to make an exception, just this once. 

\---

“Thought we were...doing something else? Unless…” Aziraphale glanced out the window of the Bentley only to recognize his own neighborhood, and winced internally as Crowley rolled the Bentley to a stop outside of his shop. 

“Oh, no, angel,” and he grinned in a way that Aziraphale could swear he saw glistening fangs poke out over his lip as he smiled. “Just parking the car.”

Crowley walked around to open the door for Aziraphale but instead of leading him to the bookshop he stepped forward into the street, waving a hand out to stop the incoming traffic before stretching a hand out for Aziraphale to cross the street. He was less surprised this time when Aziraphale slotted his hand into Crowley’s, and held it tight as he led them down the opposite sidewalk. 

Crowley sighed happily and he could feel the questioning stare on the side of his face. “Ah, Soho. Best drinking district in town, angel.” He could feel his blood coursing excitedly. Now this stuff, he knew. He’d had plenty of years’ experience tempting souls at bathhouses, courts, taverns, theaters, clubs. The humans had built these establishments from the beginning of time, and while they changed venues and atmospheres and populations, the humans always did quite like their drink. And Crowley knew just how fun and just how easy it was to tip people into one thing or another as the alcohol flowed freely through their veins. This, he knew.

Crowley squeezed them into one tiny bar on a corner first, where they started with beers. 

“You drink anything other than wine, angel?” He nearly shouted at Aziraphale in order to be heard, and watched Aziraphale squint and draw closer in his seat at the bar, skin emanating waves of warmth in the tight space. 

“Well, red wine is my favorite, but sure, I drink other things.”

“Like beer?”

“Yes, like beer. I’m fairly sure I’ll drink anything.”

“...Fairly sure?”

“Well, I certainly haven’t been out drinking with friends often,” Aziraphale’s face softened a tad, and Crowley felt guilty at the statement. “But I do enjoy most drinks I’ve tried, so.”

“So there’s a lot you haven’t tried?”

“I’m sure, the kids these days have all their new drinks, always inventing new things. I tend not to try new things, just...generally.”

“Would you like to, tonight? Try new things?” Crowley licked his lips hungrily and leaned forward just the slightest bit further, barely sitting on his precious seat at all.

“Okay,” Aziraphale breathed out, and felt a shudder at the admission, at the defeat. But it was worth it to watch Crowley’s face break out into a huge wicked smile.

“Then let’s get sloshed tonight.” Crowley held up his beer in the air between them, and waited for Aziraphale to catch on before clinking their bottles together loudly. “Cheers.”

By the time they had reached their fourth bar it was very, very late by Aziraphale’s standards, and he’d had so far a glass of whiskey, a shot of rum, pink gin and tonic, and something called a Smirking Priest Gimlet. He was feeling very, very happy. 

“Crowley, but _listen_ , just listen--”

“Hmmm, mm-hmm, I’m listening,” and Crowley moved forward to rest his elbow on the sticky dark table in front of them, resting his chin in his hand.

“Listen, Crowley. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Crowley blinked slowly, seeming to weave in and out of the conversation at will.

“I thought you were _listening_ , Crowley.”

“I _am_ , I am, what?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Whales bein’ so big. They...don’t need to be so big.”

“Mm.”

“And their brains are just...large. So large.”

“Yes, the whole...the whole fish is large.”

“But they’re stupid.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Crowley snapped suddenly. “They’re not...stupid. That’s mean.”

Aziraphale swayed a bit in his seat dangerously. “They are, though. What do they do?”

“Eat...fish.”

“Ezzzzactly. I don’t seem them creating calc-ah...cal-cyoo-liss. Calculus. Funny word, innit?”

“Cal...culus.” Crowley repeated back dutifully. And he wondered about calculus. “What is calculus, even?”

“Oh, buggered if I know.”

Crowley laughed loudly in the bustling bar. “You said a bad word, angel. Naughty.”

“You should know.”

“...Bein’ naughty?”

“No, but, well, yes, actually. Now I think on it. I meant caluculus. ‘Cause you’re all-knowing, or whatever.”

“Who told you that?”

“Alesteir.”

“Alesteir told you that?”

“In the book, yes.”

“Doubt it.”

“But you bein’...bad. Know all about that.”

Crowley finished his drink in one go, relishing the instant burn as it washed down his throat. “Mm-nah, not really a...good demon, me. Not good at the...blerghhh. Ya know.” He made a complicated, vague motion with his hands.

“I don’t know. I think you’re great.”

“That’s the problem, angel, I’m not sure,” he hiccuped. “I’m not sure I’m meant to be out drinking with the...merchandise, am I?”

“Merchan...merrrrchandise?”

“Well, I own your soul, tech-nic-ally.” Crowley paused thoughtfully. “Sounds a bit harsh, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does, rather,” Aziraphale nodded sagely, although he looked much less miffed at the prospect of being owned than he would have been five drinks ago. “You’re my friend, right, Crowley?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“I don’t like the idea that we own each other. That’s a bit…”

“Yeah. Hmm. Aziraphale.”

“Mm?”

“Are you my friend?”

Aziraphale’s eyes glistened unexpectedly at that, and he became just a touch more sober at the sentiment. “Yes, of course, Crowley. You’re my friend.”

“Then, that’s all settled then, right?”

“Right.” Aziraphale beamed proudly, and clinked his glass a touch too hard to Crowley’s. 

The bartender glanced between the two of them in utter confusion, having lost his thread of the overheard conversation a long time ago.

“Now, hurry up, angel. Places to be.” He watched as Aziraphale brought the glass to his lips and helpfully tipped the glass slowly all the way up over Aziraphale’s face with a wobbly finger until Aziraphale had gulped the entire remaining brown liquid in one go.

The brisk air hit Aziraphale like a freight train as soon as they stepped outside, and even though his body was overly heated from the alcohol running through his body, he couldn’t help but snuggle in deeper within the warmth of his coat and his scarf still looped tightly around his neck, and he clung to Crowley’s side desperately seeking a heat source.

Crowley let Aziraphale crowd his side and he lifted his left arm for better access, hugging Aziraphale to his side and rubbing his shoulder vigorously to create friction.

“Aren’t you cold, too, dear?” Aziraphale said, muffled from beneath his scarf.

“Nah, I feel fine. Demon thing, always a bit too warm, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.”

“Must be hell in the summers.”

“Hell,” chuckled Crowley, and they both dissolved into giggles as they stumbled down the deserted sidewalks.

“Angel,”

“Yes, dear?”

“I have a proposition for you, now that you’re a bit drunk.”

“Oh, no. That’s never a great sentence,” Aziraphale started laughing again.

Crowley laughed along. “Yes, well, I promise it’s all in good fun. Was thinking we could go to another place.”

“I thought we were doing just that, Crowley, dear.”

“Yes, I mean. Angel, are you attracted to men?”

Aziraphale stuttered and stumbled a half step, saved only by his tight grip on Crowley’s side. “What?”

“It’s just, I was thinking we could go to some gay bars. If you want. Those are always more fun, anyway. And you could, I don’t know,” Crowley swallowed and tried to push down the sickly feeling of jealousy rising like acid in his throat, “---make some friends, you know?”

“I don’t want other friends,” Aziraphale said quietly, shocking himself with the sincerity of his sentence. “I have fun with you.”

It was Crowley’s turn to miss a step, but he continued on bravely. They walked quietly like that for a while.

“Okay, sure.” Crowley swallowed hard. “D’ya wanna go anyway? With me, then? No new friends allowed,” he added, shooting for teasing and landing at tentative instead.

“In that case, do lead the way, Crowley.”

“Oh, well, we’re here already.” Aziraphale widened his eyes at the realization that they had, in fact, stopped moving and were outside of a seemingly quiet little establishment, adorned with a delicate waving rainbow flag outside its doors. 

Crowley nodded at the doorman and led them down a set of dark, damp stairs and Aziraphale could start to hear bumping loud dance music emanating from just below them.

“You ever been to one of these?”

“N-no,” Aziraphale admitted. “Never...one like this. Not quite sure what to expect.”

“Ah, it’s really the same but it feels...safer, I guess. And it really is more fun. Nothing like the music in a gay bar,” Crowley laughed. 

When they finally completed their descent into the darkness, they were then immediately plunged into the blinding shine of disco lights and strobes everywhere, blasting 70’s music and people moving in crowds and shifting across the tiny dancefloor.

“You dance, angel?” Crowley shouted over the music, dragging him by the hand into the middle of the floor.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Aziraphale shook his head, still buzzed enough to enjoy the music but sober enough to realize that he should _definitely_ not be dancing in front of any people, ever.

“C’mooooonnn,” Crowley drawled and began moving his body in a manner that Aziraphale assumed was meant to be dancing, but looked truly awful.

“Is this supposed to be you showing me how to dance?” 

Crowley glared at him. “ _Yes_ , angel, this is dancing, you just don’t know any better.”

Aziraphale cackled loudly. “Sure, alright.” He watched Crowley move and shifted from foot to foot, trying to look like he was participating. 

“Angeeeellllll,” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hands and shifted them about wildly, to which they both broke out into laughter once again. “C’mon, you don’t like this music?”

“Oh, I do, just not what I can really dance to.”

“Oh, is that so? So what do you _normally_ dance to?”

“Crowley, I only know things like the waltz and the gavotte, not...this clubbing style, unfortunately, I apologize.” He giggled wildly, but was cut off by the sound of sharp snap and a hand on his waist.

“Easy.” The music had stopped abruptly and, strangely, so had the people, frozen in their positions, some with their hands in the air, some in the middle of a sentence. All impossibly frozen in time. The music started again suddenly to a swaying, classical sort of tune that Aziraphale had never heard before, a gentle trill of violins and a deeply haunting beautiful piano melody. 

Crowley had wrapped a palm around Aziraphale’s waist and had pulled him close, and Aziraphale gasped instinctively at the touch, at the pull. Another of Crowley’s hands slid into Aziraphale’s, and held it up in the air. They were waltzing.

“Better?” Crowley asked with a wide grin, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on a rapidly sobering Aziraphale.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, finding his face very, very close to Crowley’s and blushing at the mere inches between them. 

Crowley was no better at the waltz than he was at any other kind of dancing apparently, but he enthusiastically swung Aziraphale around for spins and twirls, and soon enough he’d drifted so close that Aziraphale’s face was resting in the crook of his neck, the music drifting in and out of focus. Aziraphale closed his eyes and felt a wave of breathlessness and dizziness, a side effect of the slight buzz still lingering in his veins and of the heat, the proximity, the feeling of Crowley’s black coat under his fingertips. Crowley eventually slowed enough that they were barely swaying and the music drifted out like a long lost memory. When Aziraphale opened his eyes, they were back in the bookshop. 

“Wh---” Aziraphale started, jumping back from Crowley’s form in surprise, blinking to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. However, he felt Crowley start to slip from the grip in his hands, and Aziraphale surged forward to catch him and gently set him down on the armchair behind him.

“Crowley, dear? Are you alright, what happened?” Aziraphale crowded him, placing his hands on Crowley’s cheek and lifting his jaw a bit.

“Mmm. Sorry, Aziraphale, I got...tired,” He said drowsily, eyes closed and head lolling.

“Tired? Of dancing?”

“Of holding it.”

“...Holding what, dear?”

“Time.” 

Aziraphale blinked, somehow feeling in his bones the slow drag of time going again, and he wondered for the thousandth time what secrets Crowley held from him, and how much he was really capable of. 

“Oh.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley cracked his eyes open with great effort to eye Aziraphale’s face slowly retreating from his own, and watched him take a seat at the armchair beside his. “Why don’t you have other friends?”

Aziraphale paused, and thanked goodness for the last threads of whiskey that coursed his body. “Dunno. Just not the type to make friends, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re quite good at it, I’d say.”

Aziraphale chuckled under his breath and reached out for the wine bottle he’d left earlier on the table, and yanked the already loosened cork out to take a small sip. “I think you have to say that, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t, really.” Crowley muttered. “I think you’re alright. If I had done the whole...human thing. I think I’d’ve liked to do it with you, you know.”

Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time, and he took a long, deep drink of merlot as he thought.

“Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?”

Crowley said nothing, and when Aziraphale finally turned to him he stretched out a hand and made a grabby motion at the bottle. Aziraphale dutifully placed the neck of the bottle within his grasp, and Crowley brought it to his lips and closed his eyes.

“Tell me about the whales again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all so much for being here!!!! i do hope you liked this one, and just as an aside since the chapters may be getting a bit longer and my life just keeps getting crazier, i'll just leave it here that IF i do not post on a weekend, it's possible that i got really busy and wasn't able to post, but i will never abandon this fic and i will never take longer than two weeks to get out, you have my word. and if you start getting impatient you're 1000% free to come yell at me about it on [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alwayscomewhenyoucall) :) xx love y'all!!!!


	8. cygnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "tell me a secret:  
> i'm sorry.  
> i'm not sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we get a little ~plot~ today ayyyy.
> 
> shout out to my AMAZING beta [@izabella95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izabella95) for her amazing work keeping this whirlwind of a fic on the reins. her work is so important to this story. you are seriously such a huge part of this. thank you!!!!! (also her stuff is AMAZING and if you're a huge fan of slow dancing like me, she just happened to write something related so..head on over ; )

“Aziraphale.” Crowley stood in the doorway of the bookshop, and slowly peeled the gloves off his hands, finger by finger. He balanced an unlit cigarette between his lips as he spoke.

“Yes?”

“It’s winter.”

“Yes, it is, dear. How lovely, wouldn’t you say?” Aziraphale put down a book with reverence on a nearby coffee table, and his mind seemed to drift far away for a moment. “Seems like I’ve known you forever now, and yet, it’s only been a few months.”

Crowley sighed in fond exasperation. “Aziraphale.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Where is your coat?”

Aziraphale blinked out of his haze, a tiny smile melting off his face as the happy thoughts slowly flickered out, and Crowley’s own smile grew as he realized that he had been the happy thought that had Aziraphale smiling like an idiot.

“Oh, I, uh. I gave it away.” Aziraphale tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt, sheet-thin and white, with the sleeves rolled up to an alarming height. The sight of so much exposed skin made Crowley shiver, in more ways than one. 

“You...you gave it away?” Crowley asked, leaning dangerously forward into Aziraphale’s space and reaching up with lithe fingers to stick the cigarette behind his ear instead of risking it falling out as he laughed.

“Well, there was a woman--”

“A _woman_ , oh, dear--”

“ _Yes_ , Crowley, a woman in my shop---”

“The audacity.”

“ _And_ ,” Aziraphale said with a strong sense of finality, “---she was expecting, and Crowley, just look at this dreadful weather, she had no umbrella, a flimsy thing of a coat on her, I said, ‘here you go, don’t thank me, and you best get home, young dear,’ and well. Off she went.” 

Crowley just grinned, eyes wide in shock, but not with surprise. Crowley was well used to these bouts of kindness Aziraphale seemed to just exhibit on occasion, for no reason at all. He could be so, so kind. He chuckled under his breath.

“Is that a cigarette?” Aziraphale asked distractedly, and said the word like he’d meant to say cockroach instead.

“Ah, yes, it is,” Crowley said as he pulled it from behind his ear.

“Oh, don’t you dare light that in here. The books, Crowley.”

“Of course. I would never, angel,” he said with a soothing smile.

“Alright,” Aziraphale said. “And, you’ll have to excuse me for a moment while I search for another coat. My other one got soiled by paint, can you believe, but I have another somewhere in the---”

“Ah, no worries, angel. Here,” He slid the thick black wool coat off his shoulders in one smooth motion and was already behind Aziraphale in a blink, pushing his arms tenderly through the sleeves to place it on his shoulders, before walking around to face Aziraphale once again. Aziraphale was sporting a deep flush high on his cheekbones that Crowley found rather complemented the coat, and he thought a bit dangerously about how good Aziraphale looked in black clothing. In Crowley’s clothing.

Crowley ducked his head a bit to meet Aziraphale’s eyes and reached up to yank the lapels of the coat up and closer to his neck, and he moved his deft fingers to Aziraphale’s deep forest green bow tie, pulling at the ends to straighten it out. He took a quick step back and surveyed his work.

“Better?”

Aziraphale took a sudden breath. “Yes. Ah, better. Th-thank you.”

“My pleasure, dove,” Crowley said with a smirk and watched Aziraphale’s face respond in turn with its own playful grin. “Still okay for duck feeding today?”

“Yes! Oh, the bread, be back in a jiffy.” 

Aziraphale rushed into the kitchen and Crowley whispered to himself. “Jiffy.” He raised his voice significantly to be heard across the shop. “You know that bread isn’t good for them?”

Aziraphale popped his head out from the kitchen. “What?”

“Bread’s not really great for them,” lowering his voice. “It just doesn’t have the right nutrients, or something, I don’t know.”

Aziraphale edged out slowly from the kitchen, looking a bit dejected. “But...so I shouldn’t give them bread?”

“I mean, you _can_ ,” Crowley tried to smooth over his words, trying to make that sad little look go away. “But I think other things are better. Peas. Or. I dunno. I can look.”

“Oh, would you? Please? I’ll...well, I guess I’ll search for some peas, just...just a moment.”

Crowley nodded dutifully, pulled his phone out, and got to work.

Just thirty minutes later, they were headed to the park along with a small basket of peas, corn, and birdseed carefully packed beside a bottle of red, all items that Aziraphale hadn’t ever remembered purchasing but that somehow still found themselves all tucked away conveniently in a hidden cabinet in the pantry. 

Nobody mentioned the peculiarity of this fact.

They slowly made their way to their bench in St. James Park, just a short drive from the bookshop, made even shorter by Crowley’s manic driving. They ambled through the park without any sense of time weighing on their shoulders, as if the world would continue turning with or without them, and that if it did, they would both be alright with that.

This was, truly, their bench now. They’d only come once before, having decided on a whim to stroll through the park after a particularly long day through the markets at Camden Town. They had found their way to this bench, this very bench, old and solid and worn down, and plopped down to watch the ducks idly float by in the pond in front of them. _“I’d like to come back someday, feed them,”_ Aziraphale had said. _“I’m sure the ducks get quite hungry, don’t you think?”_ Crowley hadn’t the heart to tell him that these particular ducks were under the direct care of Her Highness herself and likely had plenty and more to dine on for every day of their short, placid little lives. 

So he didn’t. And he’d brought Aziraphale back. To this bench. _Their_ bench. With peas, and corn, and birdseed, and wine.

“We’ll feed them in a while, do you mind if we sit for a bit?” Aziraphale said as he made his way to the little bench, and Crowley followed. They sat together on opposite sides of the bench. “It’s winter, already.”

“Yes, it is, angel.” 

Crowley breathed quietly next to him, taking in the scene around them. It was cold and dreary, a dark foggy shadow set upon everything despite the afternoon sun and its best efforts to warm up the place. He turned to face Aziraphale as he waited, and noticed how the breaths came out of Aziraphale’s mouth in small puffs of warm air, the vapor visible in the frigid temperatures. He watched Aziraphale open his mouth like he’d be about to say something, a dreadful expression on his face, like he was about to say something important, dreadfully important, and then he’d lose his courage and press his lips together. 

Crowley watched in a sad sort of desperation, wanting to help, wanting to hear it, wanting him never to say it, wanting to wipe that awful sadness off the lines of his face. He wanted to cradle his jaw and ask him to forget it whatever it was, it wasn’t important, it could wait. He watched in silence torn between what he wanted to hear, and what he knew Aziraphale would never say. He could feel something stuck in his throat, tightening it to a dangerous degree, and after several moments of watching Aziraphale he had to blink away furiously to get back a modicum of control over himself. 

He cleared his throat and turned back to Aziraphale, who had also torn his gaze from the glistening water of the pond in front of them. Their eyes connected for a long moment, and Crowley’s amber-yellow eyes burned as they took in the watery blue ones so far away from his. That’s what pushed him over the edge. He couldn’t take that look, and he knew whatever Aziraphale had been wanting to say, it wouldn’t be today. It could wait. 

Crowley reached across the bench and pulled on one of the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat, of his own coat around Aziraphale’s shoulder, already emanating warmth, and straightened out the collar for no reason. He patted it down, despite the coat looking perfect on Aziraphale, and he knew with a deep pit in his stomach that he would never get rid of the smell of Aziraphale, the warmth of him, the feeling of him, off the coat. He rubbed Aziraphale’s shoulder soothingly and pulled back, reaching for the cigarette still tucked behind his ear. 

“So, I’ve been thinking, angel,” Crowley started, voice sounding much more strained than he’d intended, and Aziraphale shuddered at the sound. He took another deep breath, and placed the cigarette delicately between thin lips, snapping his fingers as a small fire emerged from his thumb. He lit the cigarette carefully, and then shook his hand out like a match to extinguish the little flame. “Maybe next week I could take you to Oxford. I’s just a couple hours down the road, and they got this huge library. I mean, just. You’d love it. The history and all. Sound good?”

Aziraphale deflated like a balloon at that, and he blinked away the wetness that had been gathering, letting out a sigh. “Yes, Crowley.” He smiled. “Yes, that sounds...divine. Did, uh. Did you know that it would take the average reader nearly 40,000 more lifetimes to read every book inside?”

Crowley chuckled, taking a deep drag of the fiery smoke and feeling it stretch open his lungs, and he breathed out the heavy tension that had permeated their entire afternoon so far. “Is that so?”

“Assuming you read 300 books in a lifetime.”

“Oh, I don’t read, I gather it would take me all my lifetimes to read that many, then.”

“Imagine, 300 books in a lifetime. That’s...well, say you live to be 80, about average---” Crowley felt a sharp stab at the reminder, and his heart did a flip thinking about it. Forty years. They had about forty years left. _If_ it all went well, of course. “---and you can’t read ‘till you’re, what, five-ish? 75 years to read 300 books, oh, I can’t do that math in my head, Crowley. What do you think?”

Crowley coughed a bit. “Four. That’s four books a year.”

“That’s not too bad, is it? I’m sure I could do better than that, don’t you?”

Crowley smiled something hollow. “Of course I do. But you’ll have to catch up; you haven’t read any of the books at Oxford and I only plan on taking you the one day, so. Bring your reading glasses.”

“Oh, darling, that _reminds_ me,” Aziraphale started, and Crowley tried to fight the way his blood coursed through his body at the endearment. “I haven’t even told you the latest of what Mr. Darcy’s been up to, oh, you’ll never guess.” Crowley settled into his spot on the bench, leaning back on the arm rest and smiling deeply, affectionately, as the human excitedly began to recount the adventures of _Pride and Prejudice_ , a story that sounded dreadfully boring at first but that quickly had turned into some soft, courting romance. Of course Aziraphale would love it. And of course Crowley loved to listen to it. Crowley reached down into their basket, nearly forgotten on the floor beside them, and eased the bottle out with a careful grip, uncorking it with a thought. He imagined that Aziraphale followed the movements hungrily as he spoke, as he spoke of a man who’d been in love with a woman and having no way to show it and slowly going insane with the thought. He imagined it, and it was almost true.

They spent ten years like that. Ten years, dancing, back and forth, telling stories, drinking wine, having breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, and brunch, and dessert, and driving down the countryside and back, and glances, and smiles, and sighs, and still resolved to never, ever talking about anything at all. Not what they needed to.

Ten years, and they were back on that bench. Their bench. Same as always. 

It was very dark now, nearly night, and they were sat on this very bench. Crowley looked exactly the same as that very first day, smooth and handsome and sharp. And all around them the world had changed; there were different ducks at the pond, and different people that weaved past them, although the people were absent now, having all gone home to the safety of their warm little houses. Aziraphale was different, too. Crowley could see it in the tiny wrinkles that had begun to etch their way permanently onto the corners of his eyes. He could see it in the lighter hue of his curls, and his hair was a bit differently styled than it had been then. A bit calmer, a bit quieter. 

They were at their bench, and Crowley was sprawled across it, one arm slinked over the top edge of it, dangling in thin air, and the other wrapped around Aziraphale, currently laying nearly on top of him, his entire weight pushing onto Crowley’s underneath him, Aziraphale’s back to Crowley’s chest. Their bodies worked in tandem, and Crowley rested his chin onto the crown of Aziraphale’s head. They looked out to the pond quietly, and each could feel the other’s every breath, every heartbeat, this close together. Crowley had one arm draped over and across Aziraphale’s chest, holding him close protectively. 

“Happy holidays, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed deeply, and reached up over his head to snatch the lit cigarette from Crowley’s lips, and brought it to his own, taking a deep drag of it before reaching back up and placing it back into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley could just feel the graze of fingertips on his lips as his hand pulled away. 

“Happy holidays, angel,” Crowley replied. “Did you ask Santa for anything?”

“Yes, I did, actually. I asked him to help you find a new spot for you to take us to because I think my arse is going to right freeze up on this bench in bloody December in London,” Aziraphale deadpanned.

“Yes, yes, alright,” Crowley laughed, pushing Aziraphale off his chest to stand, and he extended a hand to help Aziraphale get up as well. “Before it starts to snow. Anyway, I have a very special place for us tonight.”

“You do?” And Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he pressed into Crowley’s side for warmth, walking briskly towards the Bentley that was slowly getting covered in a thin blanket of white slushy snow. 

“Yes, I do. You’ll love it.”

“Is it the Ritz? The Garden?”

“Great guesses, angel, but no. It’s your Christmas present, it ought to be special.”

“Oh, Crowley, you didn’t. I’m not dressed for anything too fancy, alright?”

“No, you’ll be fine,” Crowley said mischievously as he closed the car door behind Aziraphale and walked around to open his own. “It’s not too fancy, I promise.”

And twenty minutes later, Crowley had kept his word. “A diner?” Aziraphale chuckled, basking in the dingy, stale warmth of the little place. “How very American of you.”

“Yes, well, I wanted a quiet evening for us today. Alright?”

“Of course, love.” Aziraphale smiled, and took his seat at a small booth far from the door, and shrugged off layers and layers of warm coats. He looked across the booth as he did and found Crowley watching him curiously, and he tried to pretend for the millionth time that there was nothing there, that there would never be anything there. Friends, that’s what they were. And that’s what they would always be. He should be grateful. He should. He should.

As the waitress approached the table, Crowley ordered for both of them in one swoop, knowing exactly what Aziraphale would want to eat, and ordering for himself what he knew Aziraphale would want to eat for dessert after his meal, and he also made sure to order a piping hot cocoa that he wouldn’t be drinking.

They spoke once the food arrived. “Oh, Crowley, this is divine,” he moaned, and glanced at Crowley, who was smiling fondly at him, a careful smile playing on his lips. “Delicious.”

“Glad you like it. This place has the best crepes in London, I knew you would like it.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale licked some powdered sugar from his lips.

“Angel, listen.”

“Hm?” He hummed through a mouthful of dough.

“Can I give you your gift now? It’s kind of been driving me insane, I think you should have it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it now. That alright? Or we could wait, it’s only three more days anyway, I--”

“Yes, Crowley, perfectly fine.” Always asking for permission, he was. “Thank you for the gift.”

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Crowley chuckled, pulling a thin little package from inside his coat. “Can’t thank me yet.”

“Well, whatever it is, thank you. You know you really don’t have to get me anything, dear, you’re going to run out of gifts to give before long.”

Crowley bristled as a group of people strolled into the otherwise empty building, a small circle of bikers that sat off the other end of the diner. All but one sat and ordered tea, and the other strolled off to a tiny hidden arcade system near the bathrooms, an ancient thing, and he began to click buttons furiously. He never took his helmet off. 

Crowley sneered at the constant dinging sound that emanated from the machine, but otherwise paid them no mind, immediately turning his attention back to one slightly wiggling human in front of him, delightedly reaching across the table to sneak away a bite of Crowley’s dessert. As if it had ever been Crowley’s in the first place.

Crowley placed the small square in the middle of the table and watched Aziraphale put his fork down delicately and pick the package up with a gentleness that astounded Crowley. It was small, obviously book-shaped, and wrapped in a simple brown paper, and tied off with brown twine. “I know it’s a bit...simple, I just, I didn’t…” Aziraphale didn’t even look up, just stroked the paper once with an open hand. He carefully pulled at the twine, undoing the simple little bow, and unwrapped the paper to find an old, ragged book underneath.

“It’s _The Secret Garden_ ,” Crowley jumped in, suddenly nervous as Aziraphale appraised the title in his broad hands. He always got a bit nervous with gifts. “But it’s a first edition. Signed by the author, even.”

“Frances Hodgson Burnett,” Azirpahale whispered.

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s just. It’s a little thing, I know, but it was. It was the first book you told me about, remember? Book club. You know, I was thinking about that boy, Samuel, do you remember him?” Crowley prattled on, anxious mind rattling. He made sure to carefully avoid why he’d been thinking about Samuel in the first place, thinking about how he’d looked at Aziraphale, how Aziraphale had looked back at him, how Crowley had felt a stab in his chest at the time, so long ago. He’d barely even known Aziraphale then. “I was just thinking, I wonder how he’s doing? And I was---”

“Crowley.”

“Hm?” Crowley dared a glance up, suddenly aware he’d been crumpling the napkin in his hand into a useless lump and he felt a blush rise suddenly. “Sorry.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale sighed, and ran a finger along the spine of it. He opened the hard cover of it to the first page, exposing brittle and aged pages, atop of which was signed in faded black ink, _Frances H.Burnett_. “It’s really beautiful. I can’t...I can’t thank you enough. Of course I remember book club, my dear. It was,” he chuckled under his breath. “We had fun. You and I.”

“We did.”

“Crowley.”

“Yeah?”

“I...have a gift for you, too. But it’s...well, I.”

“Angel, you don’t have to,” Crowley started, nerves dissipating immediately as he assuaged Aziraphale’s. “You don’t have to. Or whatever it is, I’ll love it, you know I will.”

“It’s been ten years in the making, you know.”

Crowley blinked.

“I wanted to tell you. That day. At the pond.”

“Wh-which day?” Crowley said, a dangerous dark feeling pooling in his bones, uncertain, unsteady. 

“Oh, well, of course. So long ago and so many times at the park, you wouldn’t remember. But once, at the pond, I almost told you. And I didn’t. And I’m so sorry. But...well, here it is.”

“Angel,” Crowley said in warning, knowing exactly which day it had been, and dreading the answer.

“I’m breaking the contract, Crowley. I can’t hold you here anymore. I wasn’t brave enough, before. To be without you, I thought you might leave. I thought you might leave me here, alone, and I’d. Well, I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I was so selfish to have kept you here against your will---”

“It’s not against my will, angel, please, you don’t know what you’re saying---”

“I do know, and I have to, you’re my friend. And I simply can’t do this to you anymore, it hurts me, every time, and I’m tired of it. I...I love you far too much, my dear friend. I am hereby, officially---”

“Angel, no---”

“---Releasing you from your contract. The arrangement is done. You have completed your end of the bargain, and I release you from it all. You’ve been...you’ve been the greatest friend I’ve ever had. And I...well, I hope you’ll stay anyway but...this time, just us. Just us as friends not as...ownership, or deals, or payment, or anything like that.” Aziraphale took a deep breath in, and steeled himself for the last bit. “Just us.” He looked up and was shell-shocked to spot a single tear track down Crowley’s cheek, the only time he’d ever seen the man cry. “Crowley?”

“What have you done?” Crowley said shakily, eyes in mourning and the color drained from his face. “We have to go. We have to go right now. Grab your coat.” Crowley stood on wobbly legs, and absently wiped his face with his sleeve. He grabbed a fistful of cash from his pocket, uncaring of the actual total and pulled Aziraphale up to stand. “Please. We have to go.” He tried to speak gently, he tried to keep his calm, but he could feel a string being cut somewhere in the cosmos, the one that tied him to Aziraphale. Every person felt like a threat, every shadow felt hellish. He placed a protective hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back and pushed him away from the table and to the door, following close behind.

As he rushed, he bumped into the biker, who had at some point had left his arcade game and had been brushing past Crowley in the opposite direction. 

“Sorry, mate,” Crowley whispered, attempting to push past, until the biker, helmet still on, grabbed hold of Crowley’s upper arm, tight. 

Crowley looked up dangerously, terror in his eyes, and saw nothing but his own reflection in the glass visor.

“It’s ineffable,” grumbled a voice from underneath the helmet, or maybe from somewhere in the back of Crowley’s head. The biker released his grip, brushing the coat down where he’d wrinkled it, and walked calmly past, back to his table.

Crowley stood for a long moment, watching his retreating back, before rushing to follow Aziraphale once again, peeling open the door and bracing himself for the frigid gusts of wind. He threaded a hand into Aziraphale’s, and led the way into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for sticking with me! we're heading towards the end, and once again; everything will be just fine. i promise. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for all the lovely comments and kudos and thank you so so much for reading. means the world to me, always. hope y'all have a lovely week!! xx


	9. orpheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "are we human because we gaze at the stars? or do we gaze at the stars because we are human?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween and dia de los muertos and anything else y'all are celebrating this weekend!!! i know most of y'all are reading halloween fics right now but here's a little side-update for you :)

The entire drive home was quiet and tense. Aziraphale sat in the passenger seat, twiddling his hands nervously, stealing side glances at Crowley. He looked pale and drawn, and his knuckles looked stark white as they gripped the wheel of the Bentley like a lifeline. He just stared straight ahead, jaw set, leg bouncing in place like 100 miles per hour was much too slow for what he needed. Aziraphale turned back to face the windshield, watching Crowley weave expertly through the night traffic. He thought about turning the radio on, and didn’t. 

Crowley parked carefully in front of the bookshop and then nearly leapt out of his seat into the quiet streets. He made his way almost immediately to Aziraphale’s side, opening the door for him and leading him quickly into the bookshop. Aziraphale fumbled with his keys as he struggled to open the door, thankfully not dropping them even once and his fingers trembled, with anxiety and bitter cold. 

Once they had both pushed their way inside, Crowley began skirting around the shop in a clever pattern, first locking the door behind them with a series of locks that Aziraphale wasn’t sure had existed before that moment, and then traveling to the windows to pull blinds down, checking dark corners and the empty kitchen and the teetering shelves, and then going back and checking them all again.

Aziraphale stood dumbly in the middle of the room, twisting the gold band on his finger round and round, wondering where it all went wrong. 

“Crowley,” he whispered to himself into the hushed sitting room, and was surprised to hear Crowley’s feet shuffle quickly from across rooms until he peeked his head around the corner.

“Yeah, you okay?” Crowley asked, glasses off his face and currently being crushed in the tight grip of his hand. He looked so vulnerable, so fragile.

Aziraphale swallowed down an unexplained knot slowly constricting his airway, and he felt the urge to cry. “No.”

Crowley blinked, and then was immediately at Aziraphale’s side, scooping him up as he fell forward, into a tight, comforting hug. “I’m sorry,” Crowley started.

“ _You’re_ sorry? No, _I’m_ sorry, I’ve done something wrong, and I---”

“No, you haven’t,” and Crowley ran a hand soothingly into Aziraphale’s curls underneath his chin. “You haven’t. This is my fault. I just...I. Hmm. We need to talk, I think. Here,” Crowley led Aziraphale carefully and slowly to their little couch in the room. They both sat side by side, Crowley for once sitting like a decent human being, feet resting squarely on the floor causing his spindly legs to stick out and his knees to bend at sharp angles, making him look far too long for the couch, suddenly starkly out of place. Crowley took a deep breath and looked around the bookshop warily one last time, and then turned back to his friend, seated so close. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done that.”

“Done what?” Aziraphale sniffled, although he had successfully avoided any tears from sneaking out. That wouldn’t do, now would it?

“Broken a contract. I don’t think you’re meant to do that. It just...ends when it ends. Both parties are satisfied.”

“But I am satisfied. You’re my friend. I’m sorry if I caused---”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with the gentlest of finality, “Please stop apologizing. I…” Crowley laughed, something from low in his chest, that finally pulled Aziraphale out of his own self-pity. That lovely sound. “I just didn’t think you would do that. I didn’t think you _could_ even. I’m just...sorry if I scared you. We couldn’t be out there anymore.”

Aziraphale sniffled again, quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Out, you know.”

“...Out?”

Crowley sputtered. “W-Okay, okay. So do you remember when you first summoned me, all those years ago?”

“Of course, dear, how could I forget?” They both paused for a moment, and saw a ghost of a smile reflected on each other’s faces. 

“You sold your soul to Hell, payment for the deal we made. I act as your friend….I-I give you friendship and you give me your soul at the very end, with me so far?”

“Mm-hm. Small price to pay,” Aziraphale murmured, and could swear he saw a glisten of wetness in Crowley’s eyes at the words.

“I am your friend, though. You know that, right?” Crowley asked as an afterthought, suddenly looking nervous. “I don’t just act like it. You and I...we’re---”

“Yes, love. Of course.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “Oh-okay. Right. So,” and he cleared his throat. “When you die, your soul belongs to Hell. ‘Cept, you ended the contract. Meaning that the timeline has...sped up, I guess. Your soul belongs to Hell now. But you’re not dead. Not like Hell can just...take it while you still got legs and a beating heart and a bookshop, right?”

“That would be rather rude, I’d think.”

That startled a pleasant laugh out of Crowley. “Yes. Right, yes. But, so now, you owe them something. And you...you’re a goddamn neon sign now. You just...reek of something...not of this world.”

“Ah, that would be a new cologne, actually. My barber suggested it,” Aziraphale tried, and was delighted to see it produce a warm chuckle out of Crowley. If Aziraphale could keep him laughing, then Crowley would be okay. And if Crowley was okay, then Aziraphale would be okay.

“No, I know what you smell like,” replied Crowley with a lingering smile, fondest note in his voice that soothed parts of Aziraphale he wasn’t sure he even knew about. “Look, I’m sorry. If I had even...thought this would happen, I’d’ve told you not to, I’d’ve...maybe I should’ve---”

“Crowley, no, dear. This isn’t about fault, and if it was, it’d be mine,” Crowley looked up and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Aziraphale beat him to it. “I should’ve made sure, I should’ve asked. Devil’s in the details, after all. But no, love, let’s not do this. We keep going. Together.”

Crowley blinked a few times, and tried to collect his composure. “Ngk. Mm.”

“I’d do it again.” Aziraphale snuck a hand across the soft fabric expanse of the couch between them and places his hand over Crowley’s clammy cold one. “I’d do it again, even if I knew.”

Crowley carefully shifted Aziraphale’s hand off to twist his hand palm-up and intertwined his fingers slowly into Aziraphale’s. The color contrast was beautiful. Crowley’s warm tones and Aziraphale’s bright, cool tones. They made a wonderful match. 

Crowley stared at the juncture of their bodies, this single point of contact, and hoped for the thousandth time he could reach forward and press their lips together. He could feel Aziraphale rubbing his thumb up and down the side of his skin, and closed his eyes. He felt the fear and anxiety, the terror of losing this one little angelic human, the horror of living a life of After Aziraphale, and he could feel it rise like heckles across his spine, rolling up and frying his brain like an electric shock. 

“Good news,” Crowley started tentatively and had to clear his throat to try again. “Good news is, Hell is stupid. They’re a loosely-run, slow-moving bureaucracy of stupid people that definitely doesn’t keep track of silly things like humans or contracts. Just sort of know they’ll eventually make their way downstairs, and no one is the wiser. The problem is, eventually someone will...someone might notice. A contract unpaid, now that’s...a rare case.”

“Mm.”

“And lucky you, there’s no demons that particularly enjoy being on Earth, it’s too bright and...efficient. They don’t like it here. Demons upstairs, very rare. I’d say I’m the only one on this hemisphere, but I don’t know anymore, those bikers, they weren’t human, I don’t think---”

“Bikers?”

“Yeah, at the diner, remember? They were on the other end, you might not have noticed them.”

“Dear, there weren’t any...bikers. There wasn’t anyone.”

“No, I mean, they came in after us---”

“There was no one. We were alone the entire time, Crowley.”

Crowley’s wide yellow eyes searched Aziraphale’s face and he felt the blood rush out of his face once again. He squeezed the hand in his. “Forget it,” he whispered. “Point is...I don’t know anymore. This is...unprecedented, to say the least. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know if you’re safe anymore. And if something happens, I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to save you anymore, I can’t intervene, and if something happens, I would... I couldn’t save you, you’ve only one soul to sell, otherwise maybe, or maybe if we just---”

“Crowley.”

“---Maybe, you know, I’ll put up sigils, we can put the protection one back in the shop like you used to have. I can stick around more, and maybe we should go out less; I can keep an eye on you here, that way---”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale squeezed his hand again. He shifted closer on the couch until their legs were pressed against each other’s. “I...I can’t live like that. I don’t want to. Always looking over my shoulder and hiding away in the house.” He paused. “How could I try all the food in London from my house, hm?”

“I’ll bring you anything you like, forever. Just…” Crowley tried weakly, knowing Aziraphale would never give up his pleasant life for him. Not for Crowley’s selfishness. And it was awful of Crowley to even ask Aziraphale to try, to stay around a little longer, just for him. Aziraphale sighed.

“We’ll keep going, you and me. Same as always. Nearly eleven years, my dear. We’ve had plenty of time.”

“Not enough.” Crowley whispered. “I mean, I don’t know, it could be _hours_ , Aziraphale. Days, weeks, years. _Decades_ , I just. I don’t _know_ ,” he stretched his fingers out wide and clenched them tight, over and over again in desperation, feeling, for the very first time in his life, the awful inescapable clutches of mortal life counting down the time left, and having no idea how long it could be.

Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time, and Crowley closed his eyes every once in a while, focusing on breathing, focusing on the heartbeat in his chest, focusing on the heavy weight of the hand still entwined in his, focusing on the sounds of the road outside, every sound suddenly dangerous and menacing and at the same time, the same as they had always been.

“Thank you,” Crowley said into the crushing silence. Aziraphale shifted a knee up onto the couch to face Crowley more fully, and now the entire leg was pressing against Crowley hotly, causing his brain to misfire for a second at all the nerves suddenly alight. “For the gift. It’s a lovely gift, Aziraphale. I know it...I’m sorry about the rest of it, but. That was so...kind of you, and I just. I know what that meant to you. So thank you.”

Aziraphale pulled him in by the back of his neck and Crowley let his head be pulled forward to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his forehead making soft contact with the crook of his neck. He could feel the way Aziraphale’s fingers rubbed absently up and down at the nape of his neck, playing with the short hairs there near the bottom. From here, Aziraphale felt safe. Now, if only they could stay like this forever.

“Maybe I could read to you?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could feel the rumble of his voice from this close. “I have a brand new book, after all. My very best friend in the world got it for me. A sweet Christmas present, see.”

Crowley chuckled, very suddenly tired, down to his bones. “Sounds like a good friend.”

“The best.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and reached for the book Crowley had haphazardly tossed onto the table in his hurried arrival to the shop. He creaked open the cover slowly, and could feel the scent of Crowley on every impossibly-thin, yellowed page. He stroked the signature on the inside, and turned the page once more. “When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too…”

A few hours later found the bookshop eerily silent, and frighteningly dark. Aziraphale woke with a start, wondering when it got so cold and when the hour had gotten so late. As he fumbled around, he noticed many things very slowly. He reached a hand up and gripped the back of the couch, and found that he’d been laying across it, squeezed against the backrest of it. The blinds were still mostly closed, casting gentle slivers of silvery moonlight across the shop, one such ray of light beaming onto the edge of _The Secret Garden_ , placed on the table once again, a bright red bookmark now sitting between the pages. 

Finally, he noticed this only as the thing began to move, that Crowley was curled up on his side, clutching him desperately, protectively. His always delicate face was crushed endearingly into Aziraphale’s chest, his eyes that always looked so sharp and calculating now calm and peaceful. He snored once more, a very quiet, sighing thing that came from the back of his throat, before he shifted once again and slowly blinked his yellow eyes open in the darkness. 

“Mmm,” Crowley groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut again, curling in deeper into Aziraphale’s body and tightening his hold over Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale was holding his breath, tense, and was momentarily shell-shocked at the idea of this, at the idea of holding Crowley, of falling asleep with him, and waking up to him, and knowing that he was here, with Aziraphale, and not in some terrible section of Hell where they did God knows what to him. In seconds, he was overflowing with fantasies of domesticity, of making breakfast for Crowley, of tracing the faint freckles on the taut skin of his cheekbones, of staying in bed late on Saturday mornings and reading aloud to him, and all of it, all of it, it made his heart stop.

And just then, only seconds after, Crowley snapped his eyes open once again and lifted his head up with a quick rustle, his body followed afterwards as he, very inelegently, slipped off the couch and onto the floor, scrambling from landing on his arse to crawling his way up to standing. He still looked a bit bleary.

“I...am so sorry, angel, I---” Crowley panted for some reason, like his heart was beating out of his chest. “I am so sorry. I fell asleep and I...I just---”

Aziraphale could feel the fear in his voice, and dashed away all the fantasies that were playing out in his head. “Thought I was your teddy bear, did you?” He teased half-heartedly.

“Ah, yes,” and Crowley tried for a wobbly smile. “My, uh, hellhound. Big snuggler...I am. With...yep.” He kept flitting his gaze down at Aziraphale still sprawled so vulnerably below him on the couch and then flitting away somewhere else, anywhere else, the table, the kitchen, the door. “I should be going. I’ve got to...Got to. You know.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Aziraphale squashed that little feeling of want, of desire. “Yes, I’ll, uh, walk you out.”

“Mm.” Crowley dashed to the front door, and opened it with a yank, causing the bells above the door to make a loud clinking echo throughout the shop, and Crowley reached up quickly to still them, squeezing his eyes tightly. Wrong, wrong, wrong. “Sorry,” he whispered, and stepped outside into the frigid night, the streets empty and a thick blanket of snow now covering every surface, making the silence sound haunting and hollow. 

Aziraphale dragged his feet over to the door and stood on the other side of the open door, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold air hit him like a crashing wave. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, both of their hands twitching invisibly, careful not to reach out and wanting to.

“Good night, Aziraph---”

“Or what if---” They both started at the same time, and Crowley snapped his jaw closed and stepped forward, right on the edge of the doorway, feet half in the shop, and half out. 

Aziraphale followed his movement and started again. “Or what if you...stuck around? For longer. Just in case, you know. I’d feel...safer, with you here. You can stay as long as you like,” he finished quietly, just barely cutting off the next words, the begging, the _please, please, please stay for the rest of our lives, just stay._

“Yeah. I think that’s a great idea. Safer, of course. Sure.” 

“Just in case,” Aziraphale said, pulling him in by the elbow.

“Just in case.” Crowley echoed and let himself be coddled as Aziraphale wiped the snow off of his shoulder, brushed it out of his hair, smoothed down the edges of his coat.

“Come now, I’m sure we can find you something nice to wear to bed.”

Crowley’s heart fluttered, and thought that it didn’t really matter what Aziraphale picked for him. He’d never owned sleep clothes before. He was sure he’d love it. 

He wondered absently how long he could stay before Hell started to notice. They might not notice for a while, he thought, but they would notice eventually. They would. 

“Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale had led them upstairs, where he was already rifling through drawers looking for something dark and comfortable and warm. 

“I might have to pop off...sometimes.” Aziraphale stopped his searching and looked up. “I just mean, I can’t _always_ always be here. I’ll have to...pop off down to Hell sometimes. Or they’ll come looking. Or I’ll have to perform some…tasks. Every once in a while. I can’t be gone too long, it’ll look funny.”

“Of course, dear. But you’ll come back here when you’re all done, right? In the end?”

“Always. I promise.”

“Alright. Sure,” Aziraphale muttered. “Here, is this okay?” He handed over a long-sleeve but thin and loose black shirt, and a pair of pajama trousers in a charcoal grey. “They might fit you a bit big, but.”

“No, no, they’re perfect. Thank you.” 

He was about to snap his fingers to magic it all on, when Aziraphale turned around and said, “You can use my bathroom. I’ll wait here.”

Crowley rubbed the clothes in his hands and felt the worn-thin material skate under his fingertips. He said nothing, and followed Aziraphale’s gaze to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He undressed slowly, still unsure of it all, and felt more than a little vulnerable completely naked in the human’s bathroom. His heart skipped a beat as he felt the drag of fabric on his bare skin, and could imagine Aziraphale wearing this once upon a time as well, how he’d look in it. He stepped out of the bathroom and, without any preamble, peeled the covers back where Aziraphale was already laying. He slid in and felt a bit better once he could feel the warmth radiated at his side, the wholeness of Aziraphale striking him once again. They were safe. They were here.

“Crowley.”

“Hm, yeah?”

“All these years, and not a word about Hell.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that...would you like to talk about that?”

Crowley hesitated, and pulled at a string that peeked out of the blanket over them, feeling guilty as it further unraveled the edge of tartan under his fingertips. “Not really.”

“You don’t have to. I just...thought. If you ever wanted to. You know.”

Crowley took a deep breath. And another. And another. He steeled himself, and snuck a hand between them over the bedspread to connect with Aziraphale’s. “It’s not nice. It’s dark and damp, like a basement sitting leagues below the earth, it feels like that. Like you’re trapped and there’s no way out. And the smell of sulphur, makes you gag every time.”

“Why do you have to go there? Can’t you just stay up here?”

“No. I wish, but...no. Trust me, they keep...close tabs on me.”

“On you...specifically? Why is that?”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Doesn’t matter. But I have...responsibilities. Most of the time, I’d rather be here. Trust me.” He swallowed thickly. “You won’t like it. Downstairs. I’m so sorry.” His heart thumped achingly, guiltily in his chest. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve never---”

“Crowley, stop, stop. It’s not about fault, remember? It’s just you and me. And we’ll figure this out.”

“Okay.”

They fell asleep like that, holding hands, and if they awoke all tangled up in each other, faces smooshed into hair and hands clutching possessively and sharing breaths in the crisp morning air, then no one mentioned it. Not today, and not tomorrow, and not any of the days that followed. 

Crowley had moved in, essentially. He didn’t have any belongings to slowly bring to the shop, and he was sometimes absent, off doing things he wouldn’t divulge to Aziraphale. But sometimes Aziraphale would hear about a nasty traffic jam that lasted all day, and Crowley would come back later with a smug little smirk on his face, and often Aziraphale watched passersby stop by the door of the bookshop to pick up a coin, only to find it glued to the ground. They would leave in a huff, and Aziraphale would pretend not to notice Crowley’s little chuckles. It seemed that every time Crowley was gone, there would be some little inconvenience around a different spot in London, always something that made the news but mild enough that nobody was ever hurt. Funnily enough, there were a few places that never seemed to be bothered. The shop, for one. The London Zoo. St. James’ Park. The National Gallery. Peculiar, this.

Sometimes Crowley would come back and smell of brimstone and coal, and there would be a frightened, darkened look in Crowley’s eyes. He wouldn’t say anything, would just curl up on Aziraphale’s armchair to watch him work. These days, Aziraphale would try to close the shop early, and they’d have a cup of tea and Aziraphale would tell him all about the new bakery that opened across the road, and the newest drama in the book world, and all the patrons that had stopped to pick up that blasted coin that _someone_ had glued to the sidewalk out front. 

And soon enough, Crowley would be back to his old self.

When Aziraphale awoke on Christmas morning with a demon in his arms, he thought himself the luckiest man alive. Just this one morning, and he was satisfied. All of his years, all the loneliness, all the broken hearts, all the evenings alone with a book, all the sleepless nights, all the friendless journeys, worth it for this one morning. He could die today, this could be the last day, and he’d be alright with it. 

Aziraphale ruffled his hair fondly and peeled himself out of Crowley’s grasp to head downstairs to make a special Christmas brunch. 

Later that night they walked around town, holding hands and basking in the Christmas fairy lights. They had sugar-coated doughnuts.

On New Year’s Eve, Crowley made Aziraphale stay up and count down with him. He’d always found this celebration such a fond one. The humans had survived another trip around the sun. Of course, some of them hadn’t, but those that had remembered them that night all the same. All the little people would build their little dreams and release them into the night air and they would hope and dream for another year, another trip round the sun, and they’d make new little dreams, over and over. It was fascinating. Crowley explained this, and Aziraphale had listened. They had champagne that night.

On Aziraphale's birthday in February, they closed the shop. Not like the place had actual hours anyway. Not since Crowley had fudged with the hours announcement placed in the window, and had made it near impossible to decipher. Aziraphale was 48 today. It stung Crowley, a little, that number. Forty-eight years. Aziraphale was right, they’d had so much time already. But every day they drew just a bit closer to The End. That afternoon they had angel cake. Aziraphale had laughed endlessly at the joke, and Crowley almost, almost, reached over and kissed him. He didn’t.

He might’ve, if he’d known it would be the last birthday. If he’d known, he might’ve.

But then, maybe he wouldn’t.

And it didn’t matter, because he hadn’t. And there wouldn’t be another birthday after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!!! i love y'all so so much, sorry for that ominous ending lol... the next one is gonna be juuuuust a tiny bit of a sadder one but as i said anything and everything that happens will be immediately fixed in the same chapter so Do Not Fear, and see you next week!!!


	10. serpens cauda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "long is the way, and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter count was shortened! also this is the chapter that will get a bit heavy; but as promised, it will be fixed in the same chapter, and i won't leave you on a cliffhanger. just putting that out there for everyone, especially as i think the world needs a bit less awful-ness right now, and a bit more love. so this chapter, despite the pain, will be full of love, i promise. i do hope y'all like it :) xx

“I have a favor to ask you.” Crowley wouldn’t look at Aziraphale, wouldn’t risk a gaze. He was busy glancing from side to side, watching every person that walked through St. James’ Park with the same paranoia he always held when they went out places. It had bothered Aziraphale a bit at first, being constantly reminded of what was to come, but he was used to it now. It was April, and the sun made the earth around them feel hot and stuffy, a welcome reprieve from the long winter they had had that year. 

Aziraphale had been on edge the entire holiday season, and throughout the winter. He’d grown used to it by February, when his birthday came around, and he’d slowly begun convincing Crowley that it was okay to go out, just for a little crepe down at the diner. Or a pastry from the bakery across the road. And then a bit further, for a bit longer. Aziraphale was used to it, and had long since come to terms with his imminent death. Every day could be his last with Crowley, and so every day was perfect. Aziraphale got to wake up every morning to a snoring demon in his bed, wrapped around his waist. He made them breakfast sometimes, or Crowley would make him brunch. They’d order takeout. They’d watch stupid rom-coms and Golden Girls reruns and paranormal documentaries (Crowley was a sucker for those). It was lovely. It was worth it.

Crowley still felt tense, though, all the time. When they were out, when they stayed in, on the dark and stormy nights. He was only calm when he slept, and when he awoke he always seemed a bit guilty to have let his guard down, even for just a bit. It was a frustrating endless cycle that was slowly eating Crowley alive, Aziraphale knew this. And so he tried his best to make him forget, to pretend everything was fine. And after a while, they almost did forget. Everything was almost fine. 

Almost.

Aziraphale was pulled from his thoughts at the question, and found that he’d been absently throwing bits of food at the ducks for a long time, and his bag was nearly empty.

“Sorry, dear, did you say something?”

“Yeah, uh. I need a favor, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped to process the words. “You’ve never asked me for anything before.”

“I know. I’m sorry, it’s important.”

Aziraphale felt a thrill run through his body. “No! No, it’s fine. I’d love to. I just, you never let me do anything for you. What is it, love?” 

_Love._ It had slipped out once, a little endearment, such a tiny thing, years and years ago. It had just slipped, and Aziraphale had immediately sobered up and he felt a nasty pit in his stomach, feeling like he might throw up. After all these years he’d said something he’d sworn never to say, something that he was sure would scare Crowley away, finally. 

It hadn’t. 

Crowley’s eyes had sparkled as he laughed and reached a hand out to hold Aziraphale’s before he could take it back. And he teased back with just a hint of sarcasm, _Of course,_ my love _. But I still think Mr. Darcy is a right idiot, and no amount of sweet-talking will get me to change my mind._

Just like that. And from then on, it stuck. Aziraphale used it as much as he could, and Crowley said it right back. _Love_. Both meaning it with all the sincerity in the world, and both refusing to admit the vulnerable honesty behind the word. 

Crowley shifted anxiously, and faced the ducks as he spoke. “I need you to fetch me something,” he paused. “Please.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“...It’s in a, uh, church.”

“Erm. Alright.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Crowley?”

After a long while, Aziraphale thought he heard Crowley murmur something under his breath, nearly unintelligible.

“Sorry, what?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Holy water. I need holy water.”

“Holy water?”

“Yes.”

“What...heavens for?”

“It, uh. It kills demons. Like, not just discorporates them, you know. Like, actually kills them. Forever. Poof.” Crowley made a vague nervous gesture with his hands like something exploding and evaporating into the air.

Aziraphale stared after him a long time, fighting all the contrasting emotions that were bubbling up threateningly. Fear. Terror. “And what on earth would I give that to you for?”

“Insurance.”

“ _Insurance_?” Aziraphale said incredulously. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“It could kill you!”

“I mean, yeah, I...I guess it could. But it’s not _for_ me. It’s protection, just in case.”

“ _No_.” Crowley was shocked out of his stoicism at the harsh tone and finally turned to face Aziraphale. “ _Hell_ no. I would never give you something that could kill you, are you insane? I can’t believe you would even ask me that. Of all the things, Crowley, after _everything_ \--”

“Angel, wait---”

“---No, after everything, Crowley. You would ask me to give you something that could kill you and then you would just _leave_ me here. After _everything_.”

“I wouldn’t leave, angel, I’d be careful. I promise. I’m sorry, it’s not...it’s not like that. I would never. You know that, don’t you?”

Aziraphale faltered at the genuine tone he was met with, and it became hard to see Crowley with a sudden wetness gathering in his eyes, and he began to panic, hard and fast. He sucked in a deep breath, and was pulled in harshly into a tight hug, his head cradled onto Crowley’s hard chest. He could feel the rapid heartbeat underneath. 

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I didn’t mean it like that. I wouldn’t. I’d be really careful and it would be just in case, you know? In case someone...came after us, or something. I need to keep you safe. This is...a good way to do that. I just want you to be safe. But we don’t have to, I’ll...figure something out. Look, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” Aziraphale was sucking in deep breaths through his nose, and the scent of smoke and pondwater and Crowley filled his nose and he focused on that, on the smells, on the feeling of Crowley’s coat under his cheek, of the sounds of people chattering off in the distance. 

Crowley hugged him tighter and pursed his lips tightly, out of Aziraphale’s view. “I’ll figure something else out.”

\---

It was June when Aziraphale finally caved. It had been uneventful. He’d had a rather nice day with Crowley, and they’d gone on a little lunch date to that place Crowley liked, a bit too dark to see and the tables were all hidden from the others, like a maze. It all felt a bit clandestine in there. Aziraphale thought the extra privacy made Crowley feel a little safer, sure, but Crowley had liked this place since long before the broken contract. 

Aziraphale thought it might actually be due to his secret love of those ridiculous spy movies; he’d never admit it himself, but Aziraphale could often find Crowley lounging around the house rewatching the James Bond movies for the millionth time while Aziraphale was downstairs tending to customers. Aziraphale would watch him mouth along to the lines, and sometimes Aziraphale would even catch him doing little finger guns and posing in the reflection of mirrors or glass when he thought Aziraphale couldn’t see him. 

So maybe that was why he liked the place, and they got to feel like spies, like little people on a little adventure, like they were invincible, if just for a bit.

Anyway.

They’d held hands across the table, and drank red wine. Aziraphale had steak, Crowley had chicken. Or rather, Crowley ordered chicken, and let Aziraphale pick from his plate as much as he liked before ordering dessert for them to share. Crowley had taken his glasses off. It was dark enough that he could do it without alerting any of the waiters, and Aziraphale got to watch the way his eyebrows would shoot up and down in his excitement as he talked, and he’d watch his eyes crinkle when he laughed. 

They walked home. It was close enough and it was warm enough. And when they walked through the door of the bookshop, Aziraphale let his arm slip out of Crowley’s and walked with purpose to the till, and Crowley watched him curiously, a little smile still playing on his lips.

“Got a surprise for me, do you, angel?” He laughed and approached the desk, only to pale significantly as Aziraphale pulled out a metallic-looking container from underneath the till. The energy around it was unmistakable.

“...Is that?” Crowley started.

“Yes.” Aziraphale thumbed the edge of it, obviously still unsure, torn and conflicted. 

Crowley reached a hand out and watched as Aziraphale placed it ever, ever so carefully in his grasp. 

Aziraphale whispered, “Please be careful.”

“Of course. Of course I will. Should I... say thank you?”

Aziraphale smiled sadly, and said, “No...better not. Maybe...maybe we should put that somewhere safe, okay?”

“Yeah. Alright.” They both stood awkwardly, watching the glinting container now resting solidly in Crowley’s hands. Neither of them knew what to say, and after all these years of pretending he knew, Crowley still had no idea what it meant to be a friend. Google had only got him so far. But he knew Aziraphale was upset, and let his mouth get away from him. “Maybe we should have a picnic sometime soon. Just like old times, you know?”

Aziraphale looked a little hollow, suddenly. “Yeah. Yes, of course. Do you think...do you think we could just rest for today? Watch movies or something. I don’t know. I’ll read, and you just...stay, will you? You don’t have to...pop off anywhere today?” And he wrung his hands like they were dirty, like they were itching to reach out anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll stay. C’mon, angel.” Crowley walked around the desk to place the little container back in its spot under the till, and linked arms with Aziraphale, letting the human rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and they walked upstairs. 

Aziraphale ended up reading _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ this time. Crowley watched _From Russia with Love._

Aziraphale most definitely did not think about how in all this time, he’d been ready to die, ready to be gone having lived a life with Crowley happy in the knowledge that, at the very least, every last minute would have been filled with his best friend, and he’d go in peace like that, he would.

But he’d never thought to think about a life After Crowley, a life that continued with his best friend dead, and found himself wholly unprepared for the thought. He’d never even considered the possibility. All at once, he understood Crowley’s constant tension and worry, and he felt a deep dark pit start to grow in his stomach, and in his mind. A life without Crowley. Now that just wouldn’t do.

\---

When it finally happened, there was no fanfare. It wasn’t a particularly special day, an anniversary or a birthday, or a day that felt off, that was filled with dread and doom from the start. It had been a day like any other, and it had started with a phone call.

“Good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale stated cheerfully into the phone, knowing that there was only one being on earth that would ever call this number. He twiddled the twisted cables of the ancient phone absently in his plump fingers. Crowley had been gone when he’d woken up, and Aziraphale had missed the warmth fiercely. 

“Yeah, good morning, angel. Rise and shine, you’re up early.” Crowley’s voice seemed to crackle along the line as he spoke. The phone’s speakers were slowly getting worn down with time, and in their defense, with Crowley’s otherworldly energy constantly traveling up and down the phone line, it had been through quite a bit. It wasn’t designed for demonic use, and may have broken down years ago if Crowley’s little miracle hadn’t kept the thing in alarmingly well condition. The thing was from the 70’s, for Christ’s sake. Aziraphale had never questioned the shocking resilience of the thing.

“Ah, yes. I’m organizing my shelves.”

“Again?”

“Well, you know, people always do come in here and muck everything up. It’s terrible manners.”

“Angel, you say that like you even _have_ a system in that shop of yours.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Of course I do, you know that.”

“Oh, really?” Crowley laughed fondly at Aziraphale’s dismay, even with the mutual knowledge that this was a conversation they’d had a thousand times already. It never got old. “Pray tell, _what_ is this system, hm? Dewey decimal? Library of Congress? The London Classification System?” He said snarkily.

“It is none of these, it is not for you to know.”

“It is not for anyone to know because it doesn’t _exist_ , love, c’mon.”

“It most certainly _does_.”

“Does not.”

Aziraphale flustered. “It does so, and that is final. It’s a very good system.”

“Mm.”

“Completely logical.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Very respectable.”

“...Now who are you trying to convince, you or me?”

“Crowley, _why_ are you calling?” He said in a frustrated tone, despite sporting a wide grin that stretched his face pleasantly, and his cheeks were dusted a soft pink as he listened to the man on the other end of the line tease. “I assume it’s not to debate my classification system in the shop.”

“It is, actually.”

“Oh, is it? Oh, well, then we can agree that I’m right and you’re wrong and we can end the conversation there.”

“No, angel, wait,” Crowley said between laughs. “Alright, you got me, yes. I’m calling for lunch.”

“I’m not a takeout service, you may have the wrong number.”

Crowley laughed again, openly and loudly, and Aziraphale would never tire of the sound, of the timbre of raw joy that Crowley so openly expressed these days. “This is torture, angel. Tell me, why are we friends again?”

“I can’t recall, something about deals, or choices, whatnot. Or maybe you’re like a leech and I can’t get rid of you. Maybe I should try garlic.”

“Angel, that’s vampires.”

“Stakes?”

“Also vampires. Unless you mean a nice cut of steak, maybe I’d come over for that.”

“Hmm...upside down crosses? Ouija boards?”

Crowley laughed again. “Aziraphale, have you been watching those crappy scary movies again? Without me?”

“I would never. Those are all from _your_ crappy scary movies you show me.”

“I never show you anything even remotely crappy, it’s top tier terror, that is.”

“Sure,” Aziraphale loved this, and he loved him, and he was so full of love he might burst.

“Hey, angel. Guess what.”

“What?”

“You didn’t guess.”

“You glued another coin to the sidewalk?”

“No, great guess, though. Try again, and if you guess right, I’ll buy you that bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape you’ve been raving about for weeks.”

“Oh, wow, what an offer.” He pretended to think hard for a moment. “Erm, you’ve...finally gotten into politics?”

“Oh, gross, of course not, Aziraphale. Never get involved in politics. Not worth it. Plus, the Americans do it much better, no need for us to get involved. No, I’ve caused a huge traffic jam on the M25, it’s likely going to affect the entire city in less than an hour.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished gently.

“It’s going to be great. The entire city will be so jammed, people in a bad mood everywhere, everybody late to their meetings, isn’t it wonderful?”

Aziraphale chuckled, “So that’s where you’ve been all morning then?”

“Yes. Also buying you that Châteauneuf-du-Pape but since you didn’t guess correctly, I guess I’ll just have to drink it myself.”

“Hmm, well I guess that’s that ,then. Do let me know how it was over lunch.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sure it’s exquisite. Pick you up in thirty? What do you feel like having today?”

“In...thirty minutes? How far are you?” Aziraphale hated it, but he was getting far too used to Crowley’s ability to get them anywhere in under ten.

“Ah, not far,” Crowley sighed. “But this traffic jam...I’ve gotten...stuck in it.”

Aziraphale began to giggle uncontrollably, and he could just hear Crowley groaning on the other end. “You got stuck in your own mess, did you?” Aziraphale wiped away a tear that threatened to spill amidst the laughter. “I always did tell you, evil _always_ contains the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well-planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder---”

“---On the rocks of iniquity and vanish, yes, yes, I’ve heard this speech a thousand times before. For me, I think it was just an ordinary cock-up, alright? I’ll be right there.” 

“Crowley, wait!”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking the Sky Garden today? We haven’t been there in a long time, and I. Well, and I know you need tickets much in advance so maybe we couldn’t, but---”

Crowley scoffed. “Please, I’ve got it. Check your pockets, you’ve the tickets already, see?”

Aziraphale shifted to press the phone against his ear with his shoulder and patted at his pockets before, sure enough, finding a printed sheet with confirmed reservations at the Sky Garden in precisely thirty minutes. “Perfect. See you in a bit, darling.”

“Alright, bye, love.”

Aziraphale heard the little click of Crowley hanging up the phone and he pressed the receiver tighter against his temple, closing his eyes for a moment, and then finally set it back down on the table. He walked upstairs, and began imagining what bowtie might catch Crowley’s eyes, what coat might make his gaze linger for just a second longer than strictly necessary.

Across town, Crowley sat in the Bentley tapping his fingers absently to the Queen CD that had appeared in the car when he’d first acquired it. He didn’t know how it had made its way there, or why it played incessantly in the car, and why it wouldn’t play absolutely anything else, despite Crowley’s demoonic prodding. Well. At least he quite happened to like Queen. 

“ _Oh, you make me live,_ ” Crowley sang under his breath and flicked his sunglasses off his face onto the passenger seat, where Aziraphale would normally sit. He gripped the wheel tighter and craned his head to see in front of the car stuck directly in his path, and saw more of the same: cars stopped completely, as far as the eye could see, blinking lights and honking horns and angry people trying to get around the traffic jam. 

“Shoulda done this _after_ I’d made it off the road,” Crowley muttered. “‘ _On the rocks of iniquity_ ’, I hate it when he’s right.”

He leaned back in the seat, and began to hear the lazy, piercing whine of sirens in the distance, slowly growing in volume as it seemed to approach. He groaned at the noise, scrunching up his nose in distaste at the interruption to Mercury’s melodies, before he got the best idea. 

He straightened up in his seat, and twisted his wheel as far to the side as he could, and waited for the sirens to come right by his car. It was a fire truck, and going much slower than usual as cars barely inched their way as much as they could in their current spot to allow the truck to pass. However, slow as they were going, they were still moving much more than Crowley was, and he was about to fix that himself. 

As soon as the truck passed his own Bentley, he swerved dangerously into the path directly behind the fire truck, tailing it, and watched as it miraculously paved a path through the ocean of cars. 

Crowley thanked Someone Somewhere for the divine intervention, and tailed the sirens all through Soho. 

Except that the fire truck continued through Soho, and seemed to head exactly where Crowley was headed. Exactly there. 

Crowley wasn’t too worried yet, he’d only been twenty minutes since the call, thanks to the fire truck clearing a path. How much could have happened in twenty minutes? 

Crowley’s heartbeat picked up as he rounded the last of the corners to the bookshop, still trailing behind the fire truck, and he shouted into the car for his bluetooth system to pick up. 

“Call Aziraphale.” He tried to keep calm, he really did. But he could feel the air turning sticky and thick as it pulled into his lungs, he could feel the adrenaline firing rapidly through his brain and directly to his veins, to his knuckles turning white with their grip, to his foot now pressing down completely on the gas pedal.

The sound of the dialing echoed through the car interior, but when the call went through, Crowley heard nothing but static. 

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale, can you hear me? Are you alright? Aziraphale!” His voice broke on the last word, and he began to gulp in breaths as he focused on the sound of static, of something crackling through the line. Maybe a whisper, maybe a groan, maybe the sound of _ineffable_ echoing around his skull, round and round like an alarm bell, like a voice in the wind.

“Fuck.” He peeled into the space in front of the bookshop haphazardly just as the fire truck did the same, and as he leaped out of the car he felt a wave of heat hit his face like a furnace.

The bookshop was on fire. 

The bookshop was on _fire._

Crowley looked around frantically at the gathering crowd, looking for a bowtie, for a soft smile, and couldn’t find it. He made a quick decision and sprinted directly to the doors of the shop, ignoring the distant cries of firefighters, probably, trying to stop him.

“Aziraphale!” He cried as he opened the doors and stepped inside, the blast of heat feeling all too familiar to his demonic skin. He looked around, and was surrounded by crawling flaming walls of red and orange and yellow, black pages burnt and crumpled to a nasty crisp on the floor, some miraculously untouched pages fluttering around the air in a last-ditch effort to escape the flames. The shelves were disintegrating, Aziraphale’s ancient till melting before his eyes, the ceiling itself threatening to crumble over his head. He could just see, if he looked hard enough, the phone dangling from its twisty cables, hanging down onto the floor.

“ _Aziraphale_ , please,” Crowley yelled into the shop, running through the maze of fire that wouldn’t touch Crowley, but that would surely begin to slowly burn everything around him. And the smoke, the smoke, it burned his eyes. He couldn’t see, not really, not until he noticed a patch of pale skin peeking out from behind a bookshelf, a hand outstretched on the floor. 

“Aziraphale!” He sobbed, and dove behind the shelf to pull the human up to sit. “Angel, look at me, please.”

Aziraphale took a moment, but his eyelashes fluttered at the touch, two cold hands cradling his face. Crowley was relieved to see the blue of Aziraphale’s eyes, and had never before been so amazed by their bright shade, so impossibly clear even amidst the chaos and darkness around them. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry. We need to leave. You need a hospital before...”

“It---” Aziraphale croaked out and coughed, reaching out and gripping Crowley’s wrist, and then his jaw. “It was just a candle, Crowley. It was an accident.”

“I shouldn’t have...I should have been here--”

“It wasn’t demons, Crowley. It was an accident.” He coughed for a long time as Crowley tried to pull him up unsuccessfully. “Dear, it was just an accident.” And even through the fire closing in on them, the flames licking their way up treasured antiques, priceless novels, aged vintage armchairs, he smiled. “It’s okay.”

“No.” Crowley was unashamed at the tears streaking down his face. “No, it’s not okay, this is my fault. I should have been here.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled on Crowley’s face until their foreheads were touching, and he could feel the tremble in Crowley’s body, the way his sobs shook his body without abandon. “It’s alright. We had our time.” Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s body tightly against his own, and he cried. It was the second time Aziraphale had ever seen him cry. 

“Well, you’re not going alone.” Crowley said to himself, and then pulled back quickly. “You’re not going alone. You won’t be alone, I promise.”

Aziraphale breathed in the ash and the smoke. “Okay.” Aziraphale felt his body like it was weightless, like it was drifting, floating in the ocean suddenly, and opened his eyes to see that Crowley had picked him up, bridal style, and cradled him deeply against his chest, his strong arms encasing him completely. Aziraphale felt like a child again, and just noticed as he took one last look behind Crowley as they walked out of the shop, that something that looked just like him stayed behind on the floor, lying there peacefully among the shelves. 

He closed his eyes again, trusting Crowley to care for him, and felt the air whip by as firefighters rushed past them in the shop with hoses and water, paying them no mind. Crowley walked calmly out of the shop, and no one watched them go, suddenly invisible to the rest of the world. Aziraphale could still feel the tremble under Crowley’s fingers, in his arms, in his chest, but he felt safe, and warm, and he fell asleep. When he awoke, time had passed and they were outside of a large business-like building in a lost corner of London. He pressed his face tighter to Crowley’s chest.

“It’s alright, love. We’re almost there.” Crowley whispered, and adjusted his grip on Aziraphale, walking towards the escalator inside the building. He experienced a slight vertigo as suddenly gravity shifted, and he could feel himself being pulled down by the escalator, further down into the earth than any human had ever gone. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, and was shocked to find himself somewhere very dark, and very damp. He startled at the brisk difference in temperature, and looked up at Crowley and nearly jumped out of his grip at the sight. He knew he was underground, far underground, the way Crowley had described Hell once so long ago. He knew, somehow, that he was in Hell. 

But that wasn’t what had startled him the most. He could see other demons beside them as they walked, parting the way with grumbles and angry growls as Crowley continued onward. 

But more importantly, Crowley’s face just above his wasn’t Crowley’s anymore. Well, it was. But it wasn’t. The olive skin had turned into raven-black glimmering scales up his neck, and his hair looked more fiery and alive than usual. His yellow eyes seemed to absorb all the light in the meek darkness, and Aziraphale remembered that night, years ago, when he’d first summoned Crowley, the hypnosis of their glow. He felt the same fear trickle down his spine, and somehow still felt comforted at the sight. Aziraphale turned slightly to watch the easy undulation of shimmering black feathers trailing behind Crowley as well, and he came to the shocking conclusion that those were Crowley’s, and they were connected to his back, and they were wings. Blackened, charcoal wings. 

They walked and walked, until they arrived at a sort of throne room, enormous and cavernous, and several intimidating demons stood around aimlessly, turning to stare at the sight. 

“Crowley?” Azirpahale asked once Crowley had stopped walking. They stood at the entrance of the room and everyone had turned quiet, just staring.

“Can you stand?” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale found that, surprisingly, he felt fine.

“I...think so.” Crowley looked down, and his eyes connected with Aziraphale’s for a second before looking away shamefully. He gently settled Aziraphale onto the floor, and steadied him as he stood slowly. 

“You have to trust me,” Crowley said, and he seemed to tuck the black wings tight against his back, like he was trying to hide them from Aziraphale. “I don’t know what else to do. You have to trust me.”

“Of course I trust you, Crowley,” he whispered back. “I’ll always trust you.”

He watched Crowley flex his fingers nervously, and then thread one into Aziraphale’s.

“Okay, follow me.”

Crowley straightened himself up, and arched his wings out to their full extent, suddenly seeming much, much bigger than he was, and he pulled Aziraphale close to his side as they walked forward down the aisle. It was a long walk, and Aziraphale prickled at the stares he could feel on the side of his face, the growls he heard like an angry undercurrent in the room, a general atmosphere of danger. He squeezed Crowley’s hand, and Crowley squeezed back. Crowley glanced around menacingly, and many smaller demons averted their gaze.

They approached the front of the room, where a throne sat, golden and glinting in the near darkness like a beam, and when they kept walking directly to the steps that led upwards, Aziraphale whispered. “Crowley, should we be up here?”

Crowley whispered quietly back. “Yes.”

They walked up the stairs and directly to the throne, where Crowley turned them around to face the rest of the room. Aziraphale felt incredibly exposed, and very scared. Every demon in the room was looking up at them with menace in their sneers and curiosity in their glances. Many of the demons from outside the room began to trickle in slowly until the room was full. Aziraphale knew it probably wasn't possible, him being dead and all, but he could swear that he could feel himself begin to sweat.

Crowley cleared his throat. “This one is not to be touched.” His voice was steady, and it sounded much deeper and gravelly than the light voice Aziraphale was used to, the soft voice that Aziraphale had been talking to just an hour ago on the phone. “Understood?”

“I think we’ll do whatever we like with him,” a demon said from the front of the room, steadily inching his way forward, pulled like a magnet closer and closer. “What a pretty little soul.”

Aziraphale swallowed, but Crowley looked stoic. “Nobody touches him,” he growled. He snapped his fingers with the hand that wasn’t holding Aziraphale’s, and there suddenly appeared a golden, heavy-looking thing in his hand. A crown.

He turned to Aziraphale with nervous eyes, only for him, and gently placed the crown over his soot-covered silver curls and let the weight of it slowly settle onto his head. 

“As Prince of Hell,” Crowley started, his voice booming demonically throughout the entire room, “I deem this soul to rule beside me for...all eternity.” Aziraphale had not peeled his eyes away from Crowley’s comforting slitted yellow ones and his own widened impossibly as he processed the sentence. 

There was a startlingly childish grumble that came from the crowd in nothing but simple annoyance, and after a moment they all began to shuffle out of the room like petulant children told their playtime was over. Aziraphale thought he heard someone mutter as they walked out, “Pulling the ‘Prince of Hell’ card, lame. Now we gotta find another soul to play with. Or worse, we’ll have to do _paperwork_ again.”

Crowley didn’t move for a long time, facing Aziraphale with eyes wide in terror, and Aziraphale stood there too, for what seemed like years, until finally the last of the demons left the room, and the heavy door made an ominous and resounding sound as it slammed shut.

Immediately, Crowley jumped into action, snapping his fingers with shaking fingers, and suddenly the old Crowley was standing there, amber human eyes, tousled red hair, sleek black suit. No wings, no scales.

“I’m so sorry,” he said hurriedly, taking the crown over Aziraphale’s head delicately and placing it on the throne beside them. “I didn’t know what else to do, they would’ve torn you to shreds, they would’ve… It was the only thing I could think of. I don’t...I’m just---”

“Crowley, I-I don’t understand,” Aziraphale spoke calmly, much calmer than he’d thought he might feel upon being dead and, now most definitely, in Hell. “Prince?”

Crowley turned a deep red that lit up his entire face and he ducked his head in guilt as he pulled uselessly at the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat, adjusting it on his shoulders and brushing soot from the delicate fabric. “Yeah, I. I never told you, I just...couldn’t. I hate it. It’s why I always had to pop off, it’s why they’ve always kept an eye on me. I’m, uh….yeah. Prince of...Hell. I’m so sorry,” he was sucking in pained breaths now. “I couldn’t have you dead, I can’t believe you’re dead. We deserved longer, and I just, I couldn’t let you go. This is...we’ll figure a way out of this you don’t even have to do anything, I promise. But they would’ve---”

“Crowley. I’m safe. Look,” and he pulled Crowley in closer. “I’m safe. We’re safe.”

“You’re dead.” Crowley looked up and his eyes danced across his face, taking in the freckles, the curls, the wrinkles. 

“Yeah, but...I mean, I don’t know how this works, but I’m here. I’m safe. It’s okay.”

“Jesus,” Crowley cursed, and he made a face like a spark of electricity ran through his tongue at the word. “Fuck, no, it’s not okay. You’re in Hell, and you’re stuck here, and I did that.” Crowley closed his eyes slowly, and his face turned so sad. “The books. Oh, your books. I’m sorry, angel, this is such a mess.”

“Crowley, am I a Prince, now, too?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, yes.”

“Am I like you?”

“Sort of...well, yeah, I guess.”

“Immortal? Demonic?”

“Ngk,” Crowley looked more and more guilty by the second. “Yes, I’m so sorry, we’ll...we’ll figure something out, I---”

“So you and me. Together. Forever.” 

Crowley looked up and something clicked in his mind guiltily and his eyes closed again, gently. “Oh, I’ve done it to you, now.”

“Done what?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. 

“I’ve trapped you to me,” he responded, eyes still closed. “Like you trapped me in the beginning. We’ve come full circle, it seems.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale.”

He stood there, and waited, waited for the drop, waited for Aziraphale to scream and cry and yell at him, to hit him, maybe, to collapse at the weight of forever next to him, a demon, a thing with fangs and Hell for a home. Cursed, damned, evil, awful, and...

And then, he felt a touch, just a graze, really, of fingers on his jaw, and he snapped his eyes open at the gentleness. Aziraphale was much closer to his face than he’d realized, and from here he could see a pink flush on his cheeks, the little wrinkles around his eyes. Their noses were almost touching.

“May I?” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley could feel the breath ghost over his face. 

In his mind, he said no. He said no, because _don’t you see, Aziraphale, this is awful, I’ve trapped you, I’ve killed you, I’ve ruined it all. I should’ve protected you, I should’ve taken care of you, and I couldn’t. And now, we’re here, and you should hate me, you should._

_I’ve spent more than a decade loving you, loving you with all I’ve got, every day wanting to kiss you, wanting to hold you, wanting you to love me the way I can’t help but love you. And after years and years and years of not kissing you, of holding back at the Sky Garden and at the National Gallery, at the park, in the bookshop, at book club, in Soho, of keeping myself from you when you were laughing and when you were sad and when you were scared and when I’d wake up and see your face just by mine, and I could’ve kissed you a million times and I never did._

_And I can’t kiss you now, when you should hate me, with scales itching at the back of my neck, when I can’t find my sunglasses, when we’re sitting in actual Hell. Together. I shouldn’t want you, and you shouldn’t want me either._

He thought all of these things, in the two seconds after Aziraphale had asked.

Instead he rocked forward, just the barest bit, and their lips brushed.

Crowley gasped at the feeling, and was still fighting against the pull of his mind and his heart and his body when Aziraphale made the decision for him, and snaked a hand around his head to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him forward. 

They kissed, finally, they kissed. It was chaste and adoring, and they both sighed through it, hands touching tentatively, sharing space, sharing air. Crowley’s lips were soft and thin, Aziraphale’s felt plump and velvety. Crowley pushed his hands up to cradle Aziraphale’s jaw and they stood there, together, for a long, long time.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, and felt the smile stretch Aziraphale’s lips still against his own. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“How to kiss? I think you’re doing a wonderful job, dear.” Aziraphale teased, easy as ever.

“No,” Crowley whispered. “How to love you. I don’t think I should be able to, but I love you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, you know. Years and years.”

Aziraphale pulled away to rest his forehead to Crowley’s, taking a hand and combing some errant copper-colored strands out of Crowley’s eyes. “I love you, too. I always have, my dear.”

“I know it’s a bit late to ask, but...is this okay? All of it, you and me, together. The Hell thing, the immortal thing, the...kissing thing.”

“Yes, darling. If it’s with you. If it’s you and me, always.”

“We’ll figure it all out. I’ll take care of all the demon stuff, and you and I, we’ll go back upstairs, maybe we’ll fix up the bookshop. I’ll take you to the Sky Garden. It can be just like before, but we never have to say goodbye. We can...we don’t have to look over our shoulders anymore. It could be...nice.”

Aziraphale moved to hug Crowley against his shoulder, and held him tight. It was the same as before, really. They still hugged, they still touched, they were still friends. Well, it was better, actually, because they were more than that now. Turns out, they always had been.

“We’ll figure it out,” Aziraphale repeated back. “But you do still owe me lunch, you know.” 

Crowley laughed wetly without raising his head from his shoulder, and Aziraphale could feel tears gathering into the fibers of the coat. 

“Sky Garden still okay?” Crowley spoke into the coat.

“Mm...actually, I was thinking we could go and have our picnic, remember? Out in the fields, like---”

“Like the conservatory night, yeah.”

“The _observatory_ ,” Aziraphale corrected.

“Don’t tell me that like it was _me_ that didn’t know.”

“Well, whatever. The stars.” He sighed. “Can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale absently ran his fingers through Crowley’s cropped hair against his shoulder still, making it stick up in odd places in a way he knew Crowley would complain about later. “So what’s it like being immortal?”

“Oh, angel, it’s loads of fun.” Crowley lifted his head up quickly, and while there were still lingering tear tracks on his face, a wide smile split his face into something so beautiful, Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. He remembered he could do something about it, and leaned forward to place a quick peck on Crowley’s lips, and Crowley chased it for a second, pressing hard and lovingly. “Wait ‘till I teach you about all the little temptations you can do now.”

“Like magic?” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, Satan, no,” Crowley groaned. “If you use this power to do silly little magic tricks, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Dear, I would _never_ ,” Aziraphale said, and he placed a hand into Crowley’s, leading the way back down the steps and down the long, long aisle of the empty room. “Magic is no _fun_ if it’s using powers.”

“If you so much as pretend to pull a coin from behind my ear---”

“I always liked card tricks anyway.”

Crowley smiled at the little human at his side, the little angel turned demon, his Best Friend, and squeezed the hand in his. 

“I always did you say you looked good in a crown,” he said, and reveled in the laughter that came from Aziraphale, likely the first time Hell had seen laughter since its inception. “You and me, angel.” 

And Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for being here!!!! so close to the end, and i appreciate every single one of you that has been following, that has read, that has recommended the work to someone else, that has left a kudo or a comment (BLESS) or a hit. thank you thank you thank you, it's been one of the most difficult weeks i've had in a long time but the support for this story has been so kind and soothing to my soul thank you :')


	11. polaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "life will break you. nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. you have to love. you have to feel. it is the reason you are here on earth. you are here to risk your heart. you are here to be swallowed up. and when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. tell yourself you tasted as many as you could."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just real soft today :')

Crowley was panting like he’d just ran a mile, and his lips were pressed sloppily onto Azirahale’s neck, still able to smell that unique bookshop-black tea-sugary Aziraphale smell, could still taste the sweat on his lips. His hot breath skated harshly over the soft planes of the pale skin there, and he could feel Aziraphale break out in goosebumps underneath him. One hand was still fisted achingly in the white bedsheets, and he ran his other hand ever so gently, soothingly, up and down Aziraphale’s bare waist. He could still feel the rush of chemicals sending searing shocks up and down his spine, and his muscles alternated between tensing in pleasure and relaxing in their bonelessness. Aziraphale’s neck shifted under his mouth, and even though Crowley’s eyes were still closed he could feel the blind pull of Aziraphale’s magnetism and moved his face to kiss him deeply, feeling the way that Aziraphale’s breath also came in quick bursts, the way his heartbeat thundered under his body and how it slowly lost its quick rhythm, settling into something comforting, something that felt like home. 

Aziraphale sighed against Crowley’s lips and brought a hand up to cradle the jaw above his, sliding a thumb across the slight stubble there, ghosting over the sharp planes of his face. 

“You okay?” Crowley pulled away slightly to mouth against his lips still.

“Yes.” Aziraphale breathed, and his eyes skittered across Crowley’s face, taking in the bright yellow of his eyes, the flutter of eyelashes, the smattering of freckles. 

“Yeah,” Crowley responded mindlessly, still slightly out of breath, and moved his head to hide it in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. The window was open over their bed, and a pleasant crisp breeze made the thin white curtains flutter in the wind, floating back down ethereally. The morning sun streamed in brightly, still too early to be warm but bright enough that it cast a quiet glow over everything, that hour when everything is still sleeping, just about to wake, that time that was just theirs, and theirs alone. So quiet it only made sense to whisper, so as to not break the eerie spell. 

“Ah, good morning,” Crowley spoke again after a while, breath finally back to a regular pace. “Very good morning.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale responded, having already let his eyelids drift closed, basking in the half-sleep he was falling back into. “It was okay.”

Crowley lifted his head up briskly. “‘Okay’? What do you mean ‘okay’?”

Aziraphale began to giggle quietly. “Eh, you know. Had better.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Crowley said indignantly, knowing that Aziraphale was teasing and not caring. This was his dignity, after all. “It sure didn’t sound just ‘okay’ a couple minutes ago, now did it?”

Aziraphale laughed openly, and pulled Crowley back down with a soothing hand, skating his fingertips up and down his ribcage. “Only joking, of course.” He pulled Crowley’s face down to whisper against his lips. “Just as good as the first time. Happy anniversary, love.”

Crowley pressed forward, pulling in the gasp that Aziraphale took and kissing it away. “Happy anniversary.” He snaked a hand under Aziraphale’s head to change the angle and swallowed down the soft moan as he felt Aziraphale begin to skate his fingers down a bit lower, and a bit lower. “Love, we don’t have time.” He laughed quietly.

“We have all the time in the world now, dear.”

Crowley smiled. “That’s terribly romantic, angel, and you’re right. But I meant for the poppies.” It took a beat, but Aziraphale tensed suddenly and shot his body up quickly, knocking his shoulder sharply against the crown of Crowley’s head. “Ah, fuck,” Crowley moved to sit back on his haunches and rubbed the top of his head, and Aziraphale hurriedly reached over to rub the spot as well.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I just completely forgot, and I...” Aziraphale tugged Crowley into a tight hug. “You alright?”

Crowley felt plump lips press a kiss to the top of his head and he chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I’ll live. But we really should go soon.”

“Shower?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley laughed again, loudly.

“Sure, we’ll go together and save time. But no funny business, yeah?”

“Of course, dear, hands to myself.”

They didn’t keep their hands to themselves, but only in the sense that Aziraphale massaged shampoo into Crowley’s head, careful to avoid the sore spot, and maneuvered the suds to stay out of Crowley’s eyes. Crowley pressed warm wet kisses to the base of Aziraphale’s neck when they switched around to take turns in the warm water. It was frightfully domestic, squeezed into this tiny foreign bathroom in a house that wasn’t their own. But it felt like theirs for today. Everywhere felt like home if they were there together.

They helped each other get dressed, a bit of a rushed thing. More of a tossing each other’s things across the room, Aziraphale finding that his favorite bowtie had made it into Crowley’s bag somehow, and Crowley needing Aziraphale’s assistance because he couldn’t find that _one_ black shirt amongst the pile of black clothing strewn throughout the bedroom.

“Really, dear. You’ve got to start getting some variety in your wardrobe. Some charcoal gray maybe, a deep red if we’re feeling daring?”

“Pfft, angel, I’ve got a _look_ to maintain, alright? Now, help me find my black pants, they’re here somewhere.”

“They’re all _black_ , how will I---”

“Just...fine, fine, okay but hurry, we’re gonna be late.”

Their rented cottage house wasn’t too far from the field of poppies, and the dirt roads were completely uninhabited this early on a Saturday morning, so much so that Crowley could let the Bentley sway towards the middle of the roads, gently veering out of the way of rocks or holes in the worn-down pathways. Eventually they pulled up onto it, and when Crowley finally let the Bentley roll to a stop, they wordlessly opened their respective car doors to gaze at the view before them.

It was rolling hills in every direction, green and verdant, and it smelled like crisp air, like fresh water, like new beginnings. The breeze in the air could be watched as it swayed and bent the stems of hundreds and thousands of poppy plants and grass stalks and stray flowers and weeds across the plains, causing the earth to look like it was breathing, like it was sighing. Like it was beckoning them to sit, to take a breath, to rest their heads for a moment from this weary world. Everything else felt far away here.

“Just in time, it seems,” Crowley muttered from their frozen stances, gazing out at the sunrise over the horizon painting the sky an amalgam of pinks and purples and reds and yellows. There were already a few fluffy white clouds ambling across the landscape. It felt like being stuck in the middle of a perfect daydream. “C’mon, angel. Let’s find a spot.”

Aziraphale shut his door wordlessly and followed Crowley as they carefully waded through the hills, avoiding stepping on any flowers as they went, treading as softly as they were able, careful not to disturb anything. They found a nice little clearing just by a large flowering apple tree tucked at the top of one of the hills. They could sit and not squash any of the flowers there.

“Look, Crowley!” Azirpahale pointed across the way, towards the sun. “There they go.”

They sat there in silence for a long, long time, watching the little wilted flowers slowly open their petals, one by one, in waves, in response to the steadily rising sun, the rays of penetrating sunshine causing the petals to retain their shape and open slowly, exposing colors that dazzled them both. 

“Hey, Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale kept his eyes on the sun for a bit longer, only to turn his head and take in the glowing side profile of his beautiful friend, above all and after everything, his friend. 

“I think we ought to have breakfast, don’t you? Think you can whip up a little miracle for us?”

Aziraphale could feel a small blush spread onto his cheeks. “Oh, you know I haven’t quite got the hang of that yet.”

“C’mon, give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, like last time?”

Crowley laughed. “Well, yes, I’ll admit that was...not great, but that’s what practice is for, alright?”

“I summoned an _alligator_ , Crowley. _In the restaurant._ ”

“Yes, well,” Crowley was giggling at this point, and struggling to keep his composure at the memory. “Gator, waiter, easy mix-up, could happen to anyone, really.”

“An _alligator_ at the _Ritz_ , Crowley, it was _terrifying_!”

“Well, good thing I was with you then, no harm done.”

“You had to miracle the entire restaurant to forget what happened, dear, I’d hardly call that a small slip-up.”

“It takes practice, angel, nothing wrong with that. You think I was good at it from the beginning? I’ve had years of practice. You’ll get it, I promise.”

Aziraphale finally chuckled along with Crowley, and after a moment, broke. “Yes, fine, fine. Here goes.” He screwed his eyes shut in concentration, and snapped his fingers. In his fingers there suddenly rested a glistening bottle of champagne. “Crowley, look!” 

For a long minute, Crowley stared, mesmerized, at the bright beam of his angel’s smile. “Beautiful, angel. Nice job.” He took the bottle from Aziraphale’s hands, inspecting it. “Although, I am a bit concerned that your idea of breakfast is just alcohol. You’re turning into me.”

“Oh, hush, we’re celebrating.” Aziraphale smiled. “Plus, I thought my husband might fetch the rest.”

Crowley smiled, and couldn’t dare to fight it, to try and hide the complete adoration and joy and pleasure he found here, with him. “Spoiled, you are.” He snapped his fingers, and before them lay a beautiful spread of toasts, jams, scones, fruits, biscuits, anything Aziraphale might’ve liked. Crowley now also held two sparkling glasses in his other hand, one for him and one for Aziraphale. A small silver ring in the shape of a tiny little snake glinted in the sunlight as he handed one over. One just like it rested on Aziraphale’s finger, replacing the old golden one.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale said as he took one of the glasses, and watched silently as Crowley poured some champagne into both glasses. “Any word from downstairs?”

“Ah, yeah, I got another commendation for taking down YouTube last week. Lots of chaos that one caused. Genius move, Aziraphale.”

“Ah, yes, well I heard those little teenagers talking about it in my shop the other day, how the YouTube was keeping them from doing their homework and their chores. Little group of rascals, they were, _and_ they got dirt on my carpet. You know one of them even tried to sneak their little hound in the shop? Yappy little thing. I thought it might be good for them, one day without the YouTube.”

“Just YouTube.” Crowley corrected under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“It’s just---” Crowley scanned Aziraphale’s blank stare, and decided to spare him the effort. “Never mind. Anyway, it was great. Everything’s back up now, of course, but Hell is quite happy.” He paused thoughtfully. “They’re surprisingly alright with the Arrangement. Us being in charge of the Earth division, causing a little chaos up here, keeping it all running smoothly.”

“Mm. And they don’t care that we do anything we like with the rest of our time. I think I actually quite like this Arrangement, too. I get the rest of everything with you. The rest of forever.”

Crowley smiled over fondly at him. “Yeah, I like it, too. We get to start over together. You and I, together now.”

They sat in silence a bit, until a laugh from Aziraphale shocked Crowley out of his thoughts. “Hm?”

“I’m still surprised they fell for that.”

“What?”

“Rebuilding the bookshop.”

“Ah, yes. That was a great speech you made, too. Very convincing. _It’s torture for the children, forced to sit there and read. And it’s really quite awful for the big name bookstores, causes so much damage in profits,_ ” Crowley sighed. “You know, I think Hell likes you, after everything. They’re finally noticing what I’ve known for years; you’re much more of a bastard than you let on, you know that?”

“Oh, yeah?” Aziraphale suddenly crawled over to Crowley’s space and crowded him dangerously, watching the way Crowley’s eyes widened and skated over his features. He gasped quietly. “And I think you’re much more of a good person than you let on,” Aziraphale whispered, lips grazing Crowley’s when he spoke. “Good to me, at least.” Aziraphale pressed a chaste kiss to Crowley’s lips, closing his eyes for a moment, before pulling back and sitting back down onto the soft grass. He gazed back out to the fields, and breathed in the sunshine, the dewy breeze, the smell of scones and Crowley in the air. 

“Only for you, angel,” he murmured. “‘S a nice cottage we’re at, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it really is,” Aziraphale agreed. “Although it does feel weird, uh. Well, sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

“What if it wasn’t someone else’s?”

Aziraphale looked over to see Crowley with a little smirk on his face, already scanning for Aziraphale’s reaction. “Could be a little vacation spot or something. Or we could stay here. I heard the renters have actually recently decided to sell the place.”

“Have they now?” Aziraphale responded with a wide toothy grin. “What a coincidence. You know...you know, I think I might really like that. A cottage in the South Downs. How domestic, my dear.”

“Bit.” Crowley said, focusing his gaze back to the horizon, twisting his wedding ring absently.

“Mm.”

“I love you, angel.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said with a fond smile. “I love you, too.”

“To us.” Crowley said, and lifted his glass, half-empty already. 

“To us, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOUUUUUU thank you all so much for sticking round till the end!! i hope you all enjoyed this story as much as i truly enjoyed writing it. you're all of you little angels and i love you so much for supporting this work by reading, commenting, just being here. i know the world is a little tough and a little heavy and a little bruising these days, but at the very least we're all of us here, just here wishing for an afternoon in the poppies, you know? anyway thank you for reading, i wish y'all the best, and i hope you'll check out some more of my stuff in the future. hope you enjoyed the soft ending and the story. xx
> 
> \--oh and one last note: are there poppy fields in the south downs??? no clue. but this is my universe, y'all deal with it sorry lmao. we don't do geographical accuracy in this house, only daydreams and fantasies :)  
> -note 2: i JUST realized that since this is ch 11i should've posted this on 11/11 and i desperately wish i had lol. damn


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